


Late to the Potter Party--Book 1

by fightfil



Series: Post Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Relationships, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hufflepuff!Fred, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Ravenclaw!Draco, Ravenclaw!Ginny, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8167975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfil/pseuds/fightfil
Summary: Sabine Over thinks she knows what Wizard School will be like. She practically lives at Cambridge, how different could it be?Oh, how wrong she is. Things start to go horrifically wrong when the caretaker's cat gets petrified (Oh, you think you know what's going to happen next? Do you? DO YOU?)This fic is really going to explore the actual effects of what would happen to all these people living through the scariness of Hogwarts during the era of Harry Potter. Especially for the last few years, with Voldy returning and stuff---plus after that!





	1. The Letter--August 21-22, 1992

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm fightfil, and this is my Harry Potter AU fanfic. I start the fic in the summer of 1992, following my main OC, Sabine Over. THe main meat of my story will start to become apparent in later years, but I feel the need to start from the beginning so that we can really get to see how her presence effects the world and the characters in it. Of course, I put much of my own flair and changes on the story of _Harry Potter_ so don't be too surprised by those changes.
> 
> As anyone will tell you, if you don't like the changes I make, feel free to not read this. But if you do, or you have something constructive to add, I will love any comments you want to give!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ fightfil.tumblr.com or latetothepotterparty.tumblr.com!
> 
> Also I will begin to up the ratings on things if it comes time for that stuff. I just feel like not doing that yet.

"Sabine! Please come here!" Mummy's voice wafts easily up the stairs to my room where I lie prone on my bed, reading a book.

"I'll be down in a second, Mum!" Its just soo bloody hot! I slip into a sundress---I feel like I might even overheat in it! Then I run down the stairs, leaping down the last 5 all at once.

"Sabine," Mummy says, sternly. "You know that isn't safe."

"Sorry, Mummy," I mumble.

"It's alright, just don't do that again." I nod. "Okay, I called you down because you got a letter."

She pauses for effect. I never get letters. I'm barely friends with the other students at primary school.

"It's not just any letter. It's from Hogwarts."

" _HOGWARTS!_ " I yell, giddy. Of course, we all expected the letter, just about every witch or wizard in England is given the choice to go there. There isn't another real wizarding school in the country so very few end up making another choice.

Mummy hands me the letter. It's thick, made of a rich parchment, and addressed in a elegant, slanting, text.

> Miss S. Over  
>  The Second Bedroom on the Left  
>  Second Floor, 23 Iverness Boulevard, Cambridge

On the back, there is a large seal with the letter H and the four colors of the school in the quadrants of the seal.

I tear it open, revealing several thick pages of parchment:

> HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
> 
> Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Soc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
> 
> Dear Miss Over,
> 
> It is my great pleasure to inform you that you've been accepted into the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for your seven-year education in magic starting this first day of September, 1992. Attached, you will find a list of the books, equipment, and tools that you will need this year, as well as instructions for boarding the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9 3/4 at 10:00 AM on September 1.
> 
> We await your by no later than July 31.
> 
> Yours Sincerely,
> 
> Professor Minerva McGonagal  
>  Deputy Headmistress

My hands tremble with excitement as I move to the second page, a list of the textbooks and equipment I'll need at school. "Mummy when can we go and get all this? _Where_ do we go to get all this?"

You see, my parents decided that I should grow up with mostly muggle surroundings so that I wouldn't be clueless about the world outside of magic. So I know basically nothing about magic, except the slight glimpses into the world I get from my mother and her job. Of course, it's is primarily because since my dad _is_ a muggle, we have to worry about the Statute of Secrecy or something like that, which basically says that we aren't allowed to let muggles really know about the wizarding world at all anyways.

Of course, there are many things I know about the wizarding world, like the existence and purpose of Hogwarts and that there are many schools just like it all over the world. The United States has four and there are almost a dozen scattered around continental Europe. But where wizards and witches could go to buy books? I'm just as clueless as a muggle.

"There's a village in London," Mummy says. "Called Diagon Alley. It's one of the biggest population centers of the wizarding community in England. They have dozens of stores there catering to magical needs, like preparing for Hogwarts.

"We're celebrating your birthday early this year, as you are going to need to pack for school when your birthday actually is, seeing as you'll need to be ready to go the next day. So before your party in the afternoon, we'll go there, and get you your wand and let you get uniforms and all of that.

"We won't need to get you textbooks then, because I already bought them for you. Or rather, because I already bought you a couple of them. I'm giving you my copies of the books that haven't changed much since I was at school. They are still in fine condition, and have my notes in them, so you can use them to help you study."

I smile. "It's like having you there to help me!"

"That's right, Pet." Mummy waves her wand, and a tall stack of books comes floating towards us from the study. My mouth drops. Mummy never performs magic at home. I see the titles as the books settle on the kitchen table a few feet away. _A History of Magic_ , _Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ , _Introductory Potion-making_ , _An Introduction to Transfiguration_ , _Magical Astronomy, Book 1_ , _Defense Against the Dark Arts, A Primer_ , _How to Overcome Evil, By Gilderoy Lockhart_ , _The Death of the Banshee, By Gilderoy Lockart_ , and like three more books by this git so egotistical to put his name in the title of the books, never mind that the byline was also emblazoned along the spine.

"These look more like bad travelogues than textbooks," I say, pointing to the Gilderoy Lockart books.

"Yeah well, as much as the man is an reprehensible git, he's got some real accomplishments to his name, and some people seem to like him. The wizarding tabloids gave him an award for having the best smile in the country. People don't like teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, no one seems to last more than a year anymore. Dumbledore needs to take what he can get. And this year, all he could get was Lockhart."

I must not be hiding mt suspicion of the books well, because Mummy then says, "Just don't get too worked up about him. That's why I included the first book about Defense. It's not a required text, just the one I used at Hogwarts. It's quite good. If you're frustrated by his class, just read it."

I smile. Mummy always knows how to satisfy my thirst for knowledge.

"Now go find your school friends. You aren't going to be able to see them during the year, since your going to Hogwarts and they aren't, so enjoy your last few weeks with them."

I carry my wonderful new books---well most of them are wonderful---to my room, storing them neatly in my closet, well out of sight from any of the prying eyes of my friends. Then I run back downstairs, to the telephone. I live a few blocks from most children of professors, so I call Jenny, who is the most central. I punch her number in and pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" It's Jenny's Mum, Dr. Cavendish.

"Hi Doctor Cavendish, It's Sabine. Is Jenny around?"

"Yes, dear. I assume you want to meet up?"

"Yes, Doctor Cavendish."

"She said she wants to go to the park. I think that would be wonderful. Don't you?"

"Yes, Doctor Cavendish." This is our routine. It always takes a bit of small talk with the anthropology professor before she'll call Jenny to the phone.

"Brilliant! I'll put Jenny on, so you can figure out the specifics."

I wait a few moments.

"Sabine?" Jenny's voice is tentative.

"Jenny! How are you?"

"Oh. I'm doing alright. You know how it is." Now her voice is flat. Dull. Something is wrong.

"You okay, Jenny?" I let as much concern as possible flow through the tinny phone audio.

"I'm okay. Did you want to do something today?"

"I was wondering if you and everyone else wanted to just hang out around town, you know, like we always do."

"Okay. I'll round them all up."

I smile at Mummy, say goodbye, and hang the handset back on its rack. I run upstairs. It's a perfect summer day---sunny, just a little cool, and a slight easterly breeze. So I grab my boots---not rain or hiking boots, just fancy ones, with a bit of a heel, put in my earrings, just two tiny obsidian studs, and slide back down the railing to the stairs.

Mummy glares at me, and I stick my tongue out back at her. She laughs. "How am I ever going to get you to be _careful_ ," she admonishes.

"You will never succeed!" I say, stumbling a bit on the heels of the boots as I reach the bottom. "I will always be silly and bouncy and reckless!"

"Well, you definitely are my daughter. Be back by six for dinner!" It's our routine. She tells me to be safe, and I just do what I want anyways. Since I listen when she tells me to do important things, she doesn't ever really get mad, and we just have this friendly banter every few hours.

I skip towards her---a feat in heels---and wrap her in a great big bear hug. "Of course, Mummy." Then I spin around, grab my purse off the counter, and strut right on out of the house.

When I reach the door, I giggle, ruining the effect.

I reach the town square only seconds before the whole gang does. Jenny leads the pack, and the boys are just a few steps behind. She looks a little shaken up. Dennis and Ned are in fine spirits however, laughing about something inane, probably.

"What _is_ so funny, Ned!" I bounce over them. "You must tell me, for I am in need of a good laugh!"

I wrap my arm around Jenny as I reach her, spinning her to face the boys and squeezing her against me.

"How the heck are you so mobile in those, Sabine," Dennis asks. "Emma can barely walk in heels, and here you are, running and skipping all over the place! You aren't fair, you know."

"That's why you let me play on your football teams, you know!"

"It is indeed. And we are happy to have you."

"Well," I say. "That's actually kinda why, I decided to get you all over here today. "You see, I got in to this boarding school in Scotland, and it's a really good school. My mum pushed hard for me to go there all summer---since she went there as a kid. And I finally said I would."

"So you're abandoning us!" Ned actually looks sad.

"Sadly. It's a really great school, and they have a lot of things that I'm interested in there, so besides you guys, it really wasn't even a choice. But I'll be back for the holidays and I'll make sure to spend time with you all then!"

"Obviously!" Jenny squirms out of my squeeze, turns to face me, and gives me a big hug. Not two seconds later, the boys join in, embracing us from either side.

"We're gonna miss you!"

"Now lets enjoy the time we have left. Lets see how long it takes for us to get kicked out of Robinson!"

As we walk to the college grounds, I let the boys get in front of Jenny and me. "Tell me what's up."

"Nothing 'is up',"

"Yeah, right. You were trembling while walking down here for no reason at all then."

Jenny glares at me. "Really, I'm fine."

I stare right back, matching her with intensity and concern.

"Okay! Da hit me again." She pulls her her sleeve up, revealing the edge of an ugly bruise on her shoulder.

"That's not at all okay! Please tell me you intend to tell someone."

"No one is going to believe me." She shrinks into herself. Already a small person, this makes her look positively tiny.

"NO! Anyone you tell, anyone you show that to, _will_ believe you. And they will help you."

She still doesn't come to normal.

"Okay," I say. "Tell you what. You are coming to dinner with me, and you will show my Dad, and he will make sure that the right people know. You can even sleep over for a while."

"Don't you need permission from your parents?"

"Yeah, but if they see what you showed me, then they will practically beg you to stay with us."

"Okay."

I hug her tight to me, careful not to actually squeeze the bruised area.

I grab her hand, squeezing it and pull her along as I try to catch up with Ned and Dennis. "How about we just go to the Steel Tree?"

"Sure." Dennis looks at my hand, still holding Jenny's tightly, then he turns towards the park.

Steel Tree is a tree in a park near city centre that grew up right through a statue of Nelson, brandishing his sword. For some reason, no one ever bothered to cut it down, right up until the tip of the sword was swallowed by a tree branch. Once that happened, it became a landmark and students protested any attempt to get rid of it.

It is a great gathering spot for both kids like us and the university students down the road.

* * *

"Of course you can stay with us for a while, Jenny," Dad says. "It'll be no trouble at all. I'm going to call up one of my friends at Churchill College. He has a few contacts that can give us advice on how to deal with what your father did to you. But don't worry about that right now.

"For now, all you need to think about is that no one will hurt you while you are here, and that are with people who believe you and care about you."

Jenny hugs my dad. Then she starts eating. Mummy made an excellent supper of roast mutton and vegetables. She inhales the whole plate almost before we even can get started.

"Woah, Jenny," I say, "Don't go quite so fast. There's plenty and you'll only make yourself sick at this rate."

"You can have as much as you want," says Dad.

She looks up at us. Looks back down at her plate. Then her face contorts and her hands fly up to her mouth. Mummy points to the restroom. "That way, dear."

She sprints into the loo. We all look at each other, confused.

We start eating again, having nothing else to do in her absence.

"Mummy," I ask. "How is our shopping trip going to work?"

"Tomorrow, when your dad and his professor friends try to help Jenny work through what happened and decide how to deal with it, we can sneak away and go to Diagon Alley."

Dad nods. "I wasn't ever going to go there. Your mum needs to keep up a pretense of respecting the Statute of Secrecy and all."

"OK. As long as you have a plan." I laugh.

After a little while, Jenny comes back, looking wan and more than a little pale. She puts a bit more food on her plate, eating much more slowly this time.

We talk about nothing of import as the meal concludes, mostly just enjoying the food.

"It's movie night for us," My dad says, once we've finished. "Do you have anything you want to watch? We have a bunch of video cassettes, so we probably will have anything you mention."

"A long time ago, I watched that Star War thing, I think it was called. The movie with the swords made of light and stuff?"

"That's a favorite over here. Sabine, would you get _A New Hope_ ready for us? I'll make popcorn."

I hop to the task, immediately plucking the tape from its proper location in our immaculately organized movie shelf---the only truly neat location in the cluttered house. I put in the VCR, and turn on the television. Of course, the show is still halfway through the credits. " _Someone_ forgot to rewind it again!" I glare at Mummy--- _Star Wars_ was the first movie she saw after graduating from Hogwarts and her first date with Dad after all, so she is always watching it, even more than me.

"Sorry!"

I hit the rewind button, and turn off the screen again, hearing the high whine of the cathode rays zip from existence. "A long time ago, and in a galaxy far, far away, they have video tapes that you don't have to rewind!"

"In your dreams, kid."

I wheel around to see Mummy standing right behind me, holding far more popcorn than she had time to make, the handle of her wand barely sticking out of the neck of her shirt.

I walk by her, whispering into her ear, "You have a bit of a warlock malfunction."

She musses my hair with her free hand, before hiding the magical item deeper in her clothes. "Twit," she hisses back.

I stick out my tongue at her.

"Okay," Dad says, a great big bowl of even more popcorn clutched in his arms. "Let's get this party started. Get over here, kiddo."

He pulls me into a hug, and sits down on our enormous couch, bringing him down with me. I steal a handful of popcorn.

Then the movie starts, and we are all rapturous.

* * *

I slept on the floor, giving Jenny the bed. So when I awake in the morning, everything is sore, like I had just exercised the previous day. Sitting up---groaning---I look over at her sleeping figure. She looks so peaceful, nothing about the tiny sleeping girl betraying what happened yesterday. Knowing that our plan's success success relied on my leaving long before Jenny awoke on her own, I quickly get dressed, a thin leather jacket going over a light tee and jeans.

I tiptoe out of the room, making sure to close the door without waking Jenny, and slide down the banister to the first floor. I can't help myself.

"Sabine!" Mummy admonishes me, but as she can only whisper it, it's more comical than anything.

"Let's go!" My grin is wide as I practically skip towards the door.

"We aren't taking muggle transport to Diagon Alley. You get to see one way that witches and wizards get around today."

"So we're going to fly on brooms?"

"No, silly!" She shakes her head, but the grin spreading across her angular features and the sparkle in her eyes tells me that she got the joke. "We're going to take the Floo Network. It's a thing where we can go from our fireplace to any approved fireplace in the wizarding community."

Mummy pours a pinch of sooty powder into my hands. "Now stand in the fireplace, drop the powder and say 'The Leaky Cauldron'. Be sure to enunciate, Pet. Otherwise you might not end up in the right place."

"OK."

I step into our fireplace. Until now, I didn't even now why we had it. We never light actual fires.

I drop the powder. Green flames lick their way up around me. "The Leaky Cauldron!"

Spinning, Spinning. Pulled from behind. I feel like I'm being squeezed through a pipe, elongating as I get pushed through. Suddenly, still spinning, the scenery changes drastically. I fall out of a fireplace onto the floor of what looks like a traditional inn. A couple of people are sitting at tables arranged around the center of the big room, while still more are sitting at a bar, drinking, conversing, and being merry. No one is the least perturbed by my sudden appearance.

Mummy is suddenly spinning around in the fireplace. She comes to a stop, steps out, and wraps her arms around me. "How'd it go, pet?"

"I don't like it. Now I'm dizzy."

Mummy chuckles. "You'll get used to it."

"I don't wanna," I mumble under my breath, hoping she didn't hear it.

"Come on, we need to get you your wand."

She hurries me through the inn, bringing me to the back door to an alleyway in the back. However, when the door opens, all I see is a brick wall. She looks down at me. "Welcome to Diagon Alley," she laughs.

Tapping a brick with her wand, the wall vanishes showing a wide boulevard with shops lining the sides for at least a mile in each direction.

"Oh, do pick your jaw off of the ground, miss," Mummy chides.

I snap my mouth shut. "So this whole---" I look around, seeing hundreds of apartments over the storefronts. "---city is just hidden in the middle of LONDON!"

"Yeah. Magic is _so_ cool."

I roll my eyes at her. "So where is this wand shop?"

"It's Olivander's and it's the workshop of one of the two most celebrated wandmakers in history!"

"And how do we get there, Mummy!?"

"This way."

I grab her hand and she leads me down the crowded streets, teeming with all sorts of people. Some are dressed in robes, like the ones that Dad to Formal Hall and all sorts of University Events. They tend to go into the fancier-looking establishments. Some dress like something out of every historical era---one girl walks by in the most beautiful nineteenth century gown, while a guy was literally covered in chainmail. Still others were dressed similarly to us, almost looking out of place.

"What's with the dress code? It's almost like we're at one of those American Renaissance Faires."

"Some of the oldest wizarding families tend to dress in the style of the era when they rose to prominence. That girl's dress was actually made in 1792."

I look at her, agape.

Mummy pulls me into a dark shop. The facade contained the label: "Olivander's: Fine Wandmakers since 302 BC"

"He can't have been making wands for two thousand years!" I whisper.

"No, pet, but wandmaking has always been in the Olivander family. He really is one of the best even if he's a bit... odd."

I don't have time to contemplate her phrasing before a man pops out from behind one of the dozens of towering shelves of little boxes. "Oh! Ms Keller," He says to Mummy. "And you've brought a young one again."

"This time, she's my daughter, not a muggleborn I'm introducing to the world of magic. I don't get Hogwarts duty this year, since I have to help her."

"Righto. Now, let me see here." He stares down his glasses at me. His grey eyes feeling like they can see right into my very soul. "I remember when your mother came here, eleven years ago. I remember every wand I've ever sold."

I give him a look. _He can't **possibly** remember every wand. That must have been tens of thousands of wands._ "Let's see what we can find for you, young lady."

He disappears for a moment, returning with a small stack of boxes. Their velvet exteriors remind me of the cases people sell fancy jewelry in.

He opens the first box, revealing a slender stick of polished oak. "The wand chooses the witch, you know."

He hands it to me, handle first.

I hold it, standing awkwardly.

"Well, give it a wave!"

Mummy gives me a nod. I waggle my hand up and down, feeling ridiculous. Nothing happens.

"Ah well. I didn't think so anyways." He takes the wand back from me, and hands me a much shorter wand. "Mahogany and phoenix feather," he says. Mummy gasps before she can catch herself.

I wave it. One of the boxes still on its shelf---far down the isle---comes flying.

He yanks it out of my hand immediately. "Sorry," I mumble.

"No matter. Now this one. Elm and unicorn hair."

As soon as I hold it, I know its wrong. I shake my hand.

"Now Acacia and dragon heartstring."

"Acacia?"

"An unusual choice for wood, but it is for the subtle magic users. Your mother's current wand is made from it."

"Current?"

"Well, I've had a bit of bad luck in keeping my wands intact. Sorry, Mr. Olivander."

"It just means we haven't found the right _one_ for you, Ms Keller."

I wave the acacia wand around. Sparks fly out the end. Olivander looks hopeful. But I shake my head. "No, I don't think so."

"I think I know what it needs to be. One moment." He disappears into the stacks again.

He comes back with two more wands. "It's one of these," he says, confidently.

Oh, how I want to prove him wrong. Mummy sees my expression and snickers.

"10 inches, applewood, and unicorn hair. Slightly springy."

Nothing about that introduction really appeals to me. I take the wand. And then drop it right on the floor. I take a step back, shivering.

"Bother! Now this one." Mr Olivander doesn't even bother to pick the wand up.

"Maple and unicorn hair. Thirteen inches. Very bendy." He turns the tip at a right angle to the handle, to prove his point.

I wave it, the tip seeming sluggish behind my movements. Nothing happens. I hand the wand back.

"Oh. Alright. I have a few of you people every year. Those who defy easy matching."

He waves his wand, and four new boxes come out. He snatches one out of the air. Opening the box, he announces, "Cedar and acromantula hair." Mummy shudders. "Fourteen inches. Unyielding."

Mummy chuckles. I glare at her, taking the wand. "It's much closer. But I don't think so."

"Hm. I almost never do laminated wands. But I think I must. I only have a few, but it is probably necessary."

He summons a different box from the back room. It's far wider than the others.

He opens it to reveal three wands. "Each of these are made with feathers from the same thestral." He points to the leftmost. "This wand is a laminate of blackthorn and yew." He moves to the middle, "This is of black walnut and cherry. And this final wand," he points to the final, longest wand. "Is made from cedar and hawthorn."

I'm so gravitated to the last one that it is a great effort for me not to immediately grab it and clutch it tight to my chest.

But before I can try one of them. Olivander slams the box shut.

A small group of people enter the wandshop behind us. I spin on my heels.

Two women Mummy's age walk through the door, bringing with them a young boy and girl my age.

"Olivander!" One of them exlaims. "It's so nice to see you."

"Yes, indeed, the Misses Lewis. I assume it's time for these little children to receive their wands."

"Oh, yes!" The boy---who was several inches shorter than me---responds.

Olivander opens one of the boxes that he had brought out for me, but never let me try the wand contained within. He hands the wand to the boy. "Give it a wave," He says, kindly.

He waves the wand---in my general direction. The lantern hanging from the wall behind me explodes.

I duck. "Oi!"

Olivander takes the wand back. Next he hands a wand to the girl. "Redwood and Phoenix Feather, twelve and a quarter inches. Reasonably pliant."

Olivander is excited as he hands over the slender piece. She waves it, and a neat red ribbon ties itself in a knot behind the tip of the wand.

"Ooh!" I breathe.

"The wand chooses the witch, my dear," Olivander says. "And this wand has chosen you."

Olivander returns to Mummy and me, a slight twinkle in his eye. "I always enjoy getting it right on the first try."

"Sorry," I say, worried I'm disappointing him by being difficult to match with a wand.

"It's perfectly alright my dear. The challenge provided by people like you is an altogether different kind of joy!" He gives me a little grin. "Have you decided which one you'd like to try first."

I nod with enthusiasm. I can't wait to pick the one that drew me in. "Yes. The cedar and hawthorn one."

"Of course, my dear." He opens the box with the laminate wands. He pulls it out, the red cedar intertwining with the lighter hawthorn.

"It's amazing," I whisper.

"It is, indeed. Some of my best work, if I may be immodest. 13 and an eighth inches, and sturdy, but very willing to bend."

As soon as I wrap my hand around the wand's handle I knew I needed no other. I wave it once. A thin streak of golden fire follows the tip, warming the room slightly. I giggle.

"Well, I think we've done it. If you'll wait for me to find the boy his wand, I think we can do the actual purchasing all together then."

Mummy nods, and I turn to the boy. He get handed a new wand. "Eight inches, yew and unicorn hair."

I see a box fly off the shelf.

Soon Olivander and the boy settle on a seven and a half inch Red Oak wand with a dragon heartstring core. It's priced at six gold galleons and five silver sickles. Then the girl's wand, 13 inches of redwood and phoenix feather, 12 galleons and a single sickle.

Then my mother hands Mr Olivander a small pouch heavy with coins. He hefts it. Then he counts out four galleons and hands them back.

"How much money did you give 'im, Mummy," I whisper, shocked.

Mummy leads me from the shop. I'm still clutching the wand. I never want to let it go. "A lot, pet," she tells me. "But it was worth every knut." She musses my hair again.

I hug her back. Then something catches my eye. _Egger's Emporiumm of Magical Creatures_. I can't pull my gaze away. Everything there is just. So _cute_. I wander over, straying from Mummy.

I watch two billywigs---or so they are named on the cage---fly about each other, in a seeming battle. The sapphire insects are mesmerizing.

"Sabine!"

"Sorry, Mummy," I say, scampering back. "Those creatures are so pretty! I've never seen anything like them!"

"You'll get your fill soon enough, pet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm still bad at ending things, alright? But I've wandered my way into a 5000 word chapter, so I think now is a good time to say see you soon. By the time I've uploaded this and stuff, I will probably a good way into the next section, so beware. I love comments and feedback, since they, you know, validate my efforts and show that people are actually reading my story, so comment dammit! Tell me if you like my characters, if you are confused by all the things I packed into the first few scenes, all of it!


	2. Chapter 2: The Train (August 22-September 1, 1993)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/W: Discussions of child abuse---physical, emotional, and sexual.**
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for coming back and reading a second chapter! We are soon going to get into the real meat of things, but there is some more scene setting I have to do. Don't worry though, Sabine will be on her way to Hogwarts in this chapter. I'm trying to really balance my desire to get straight into the parts of the story I am really excited for in later chapters with the need for you to see the characters develop and some other fun things that happen early in the story.
> 
> If you think I am going too quickly or too slowly, feel free to give me a shout and tell me to speed up or slow down the pace of the story.

The floo is just as disorienting and dizzying on the way home as the way out to Diagon Alley was. I dust myself off, looking around. Dad must already have taken Jenny with him to talk to his friends about what had happened.

Mummy busies herself with lunch preparations. “What can I do to help?” It’s tradition for me to ask to help with meals, even when I am not needed.

“No, relax for a while, pet.”

I nod, skipping my way upstairs. Putting my wand back into its box, I hide it with the rest of my books. Then, considering, I take out _Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_ , and start flipping through the first few chapters.

I don’t even know where I should begin. I start at the beginning, writing everything down on one of my pink spiral notebooks.

> Charm-casting is one of the most fundamental tools a witch or wizard has in their repertoire. Charms can be used for anything from cleaning a house to fixing a meal, from healing injuries to accomplishing things outside of the normal human ranges of abilities. Charms can be the simplest spells a witch may ever cast, but others might also be some of the most complicated a wizard will ever use.
> 
> However, regardless of their complexity, all charms share the same basic fundamental components. The three fundamentals of charm casting are as follows. Firstly, wandwork: most charms require specific motions of the wand in order to work properly. Secondly, incantation: one must always correctly pronounce the spells incantation in order to properly channel the magic through their wand. Thirdly, concentration: while an incantation and wand movement create the shape of the charm, no magic will occur except through the force of will of the caster. The caster must pull their magical ability from within themselves and force it to find the mold created by the two previous fundamentals in order to cast any spell.
> 
> The next three sections will focus on the particulars of each of the three fundamentals of spellcasting, and will provide you with the framework and understanding necessary for you to cast your first spell.

The book is excellent, making no assumptions, but still not really talking down to me, the reader. It just outlines the facts, and presents all useful information in a straightforward way. The actual subject matter is like nothing I could even comprehend before now, but as I work my way through, I think I’m getting a decent hang of it.

I’m so fascinated by it, I lose track of time and barely clamour of several people entering the house. “Sabine!” Mummy calls. “We have guest for lunch!”

I put the book back in its hiding place, along with my notes, and scamper down the stairs.

Jenny is there, with Dad’s hands tightly on her shoulder. She looks even worse than when I first saw her yesterday. So, I go straight to her, embracing her tight. I whisper, “You alright, Jenny?”

She shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “No.” Even as close to her as I am, I can barely hear her.

“Thanks for coming back with us,” Dad is saying. “I think she’ll be a bit more able to talk about it here, with Sabine.” He turns to me, his voice now low so no one else can hear him. “It’s even worse than she was letting on yesterday, so I need you to really make her feel safe here, okay?”

I nod, needing no further instruction. “Okay, Jenny,” I say, cheerily. “Let’s go get some lunch. Mummy’s made tarts!”

I drag her into the kitchen.

Dad must have said something to the three adults he brought with him, because there is no mention of Jenny’s bruise or anything of the sort during the meal. Yet once we finish up and I return from picking up the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, Dad ushers us all into the sitting room. “I’ve already told you all the ground rules for this discussion, but I will go over them again, for emphasis.” Dad’s voice is forceful, taking no challenges. “To start with, in the most basic form, we are all here _for_ Jenny, so whatever she says or wants is what is going to happen.

“Jenny, you do not have to answer _any_ question you don’t want to. We are not interrogating you. However, any information you can tell us will only help you. Everyone else, there is no questioning Jenny’s words. Whatever she does say, we shall take as gospel unless overridden by indisputable facts. We are on her side, so we need to act like it.

“Alrighty, now that the ground rules are dispensed with, we can start.”

I squeeze Jenny’s hand, hoping it provides some reassurance.

“Okay Jenny,” Dad continues. “Why don’t you start by telling us what happened yesterday? We’ve heard it relayed to us by Sabine, but why don’t you give us the firsthand summary of the morning?”

Jenny swallows. “My Da sometimes comes home really late at night, drunk from spending far too much time at a club or a pub or something. When he does, he’s never happy. Especially not the next morning, when he’s almost too hungover to function. But he has to be at the University in the morning, so if I make too much noise in the morning when he is hungover, he gets really mad.

“Yesterday, he was really bad. I had made breakfast and he was angry about how long it was taking me. The noise of my cooking was probably really painful. As I start to bring him his food, he screamed at me to hurry up. I was startled and dropped the plate. It shattered on the floor.

“And then…” Jenny falters. I hug her.

“It’s okay now,” I whisper in her ear.

“And then, he jumps out of his seat at the table and shoves me really hard into the wall. The whole time, he’s yelling at me really loudly, and I can barely think from the pain.”

Jenny is crying from the memory. I squeeze tighter. “He’s not going to hurt you again.”

The one woman guest is the first to speak. “Has he done things like this before? Hurt you in anger? Not like spanking, but like yesterday.”

Jenny nods. “It’s been going on for a couple years. Ever since he started drinking heavily. Once or twice a month he gets really bad and lashes out like yesterday.”

Then the taller man asks a question, “Has he ever hurt you badly enough that you’d needed to go to a doctor?”

“No. Just bad bruising. Never a broken bone or even a sprain.” She swallows again. “Still hurts really bad, though.”

“Of course it hurts.” That’s the second man. “Do you mind showing us the bruising?”

Jenny pulls the sleeve of her shirt up over her shoulder. The bruise is still a dark purple, but sickly green splotches are starting to form in the visible areas.

“My shoulder is what hit the wall, and that formed the bruise.”

“Has…” The woman is struggling to ask something. “Has he touched you? Done inappropriate things to you?”

Jenny nods and sobs into my shoulder. “L-Last month, when he came home one evening, he came up to my room. And–And…” She can’t continue.

“Bloody fucking hell,” the woman mutters under her breath. Then she turns to Dad. “I’ve heard enough. I will call the Department of Child Services straight away. Don’t let her parents take her back to that house.”

The taller man is next, “That bloody man won’t be teaching at Kings any longer. I will serve him is notice presently.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, James,” Dad says. “As you have no proof, you shouldn’t go that far quite yet.”

“He doesn’t have tenure. I can fire him whenever I damn well want.”

The shorter man asks one last question of Jenny. “If a police officer were to come, would you be comfortable telling him what you’ve just told us, Jenny?”

She nods.

“You are going to be alright,” says Mummy. “You will be safe here and can stay as long as you want. We will take care of you.”

I am seething. All I can think about is Jenny’s father, and how much I hate him for what he’s been doing to my best friend.

The three guests leave our house and I get up, preparing to go upstairs.

Then, suddenly, my hair explodes. Every strand of my beautiful brown hair catches fire and burns away in the space of an instant, all of my anger burning away with it.

Jenny screams. I scream. Mummy’s mouth drops wide open in surprise. Dad runs to me, gathering me up in a rush. “Are you all right, Sabine?”

I can barely hear his panicked inquiry over my scream and ringing ears. I close my mouth, nodding.

“I’m okay.”

“What bloody happened?” Jenny’s voice cuts through, harsh and terrified. Dad looks at Mummy, his eyes questioning.

“Sabine and I,” Mummy starts, “are witches. We can do magic.” She waves her wand for effect, dousing my smoking hair. “Since Sabine is too young to have received any training, sometimes she can perform magic without meaning to, especially when she is feeling a strong emotion. That’s why she is going to Scotland to school this year.

“There’s a school for young witches and wizards there, the only one in the UK in fact, so that’s where she has to go to learn how to control her magic and gain useful magical skills.”

Jenny just nods. “Is that why you are so good at running in heels?”

I laugh. “No I’m just talented and have no regard for my own safety.”

Jenny and I head up to my room—our room now I guess—and I show her my books. Her amazement knows no bounds when I show her _Introduction to Transfiguration_ and she shares my distaste for Lockharts texts.

“They look worse than a bad fantasy novel!”

We spend the afternoon making fun of Lockhart and generally trying to block out any memory of Jenny’s injuries, how she got them, or even her father in general.

* * *

My trunk is fully packed, sitting neatly by the front door. The books are tied on top of it, as they wouldn’t fit in with everything else I wanted to bring. Mummy is in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on the cake. Dad is in the garage, working on “something secret.” A cheesy birthday present, no doubt. Now, I sit in the middle of the living room, on a floor I just finished cleaning. I’m waiting for the first guest to arrive.

Mummy said that she was going to invite a few of her work friends. They’d been over before, but only rarely, as witches and muggle parties tend to mix poorly (or so my parents have said). Jenny’s already (having never left), relaxing in the living room with me, and our close circle of friends (just Ned and Dennis, really) are going to come, along with their parents. “Just a small party!” I always tell Mummy and Dad and when it’s all said and done, there’ll be more than 20 people here.

“Ding! Rings our boring doorbell. I bounce to my feet, running to the front door.

“Someone’s here Mummy,” I yell towards the kitchen in the back and open the door.

“Happy birthday, Sabine!” It’s Gemma Berkendale, one of Mummy’s coworkers.

“Hi, Mrs. Berkendale! Thanks,” I greet her, letting her cross the portal.

“Gemma! How nice to see you,” Mummy calls as she walks in, her fingers still a little covered in frosting. The two hug and Mummy does get a little chocolate on the back of her shirt.

Slowly, the rest of the guests file in. I don’t know how Mummy’s coworkers arrive, as there was no crunch of car wheels preceding their arrival. The muggles think nothing of it—must just assume that they arrived by taxi or something.

“Okay,” Mummy announces, once everyone gathers in the living room. “There’s snacks and music, and the roast has about ten minutes left in the oven, so everyone, _kabitz_!”

I roll my eyes at Ned. “Leave it to Mummy to gather everyone at a party and say, everyone, gossip and entertain yourselves.” I lower my voice. “Especially when none of you know each other.”

He shakes his head at me. He probably doesn’t actually care, but just is trying to give me some satisfaction for telling him this. I jump lightly onto the coffee table, raising my voice a tiny bit so that it will carry across the room clearly. “Thanks, everyone, for coming to my eleventh birthday party! I know some of you don’t know each other so let me introduce everyone.”

I point to Mrs. Berkendale and to the rest of Mummy’s coworkers in turn. “Everyone, these are Mummy’s coworkers, Mrs. Berkendale, Mr. Colander, Mr. Shacklebolt, Ms. Grenby, Mr. Zabini, Mrs. Strong, and Miss Tonks.” I point, last, to a young woman in her early twenties with spiky, bright-pink dyed, hair.

“And these,” I say, pointing to Ned and Dennis and their families. “Are my good friends, Ned Lindberg and Dennis Levine. And Dennis’ sister, Jodie. And his parents, Professor and Mr. Levine. Then there’s Ned’s older brother, Evan, his younger brother, Henry, and his parents, Professor Lindberg and Professor Lindberg.

“Last, but not least,” I say, jumping down from the table and running to hug Jenny. “Is my dearest friend Jenny, who is staying with my family for a while.”

“So what do you all do for your work,” asks Professor Levine, of the witches and wizards from Mummy’s work, the Ministry of Magic.

“Well,” starts Miss Tonks, “I work with Kingsley as an interdepartmental liaison. Kingsley and I are in the department of hunting and fisheries. Kingsley is a game warden, and I’m training to be one, but most of the time we get involved in all the policy related stuff, so we don’t go out in the field much.”

Their cover stories are well rehearsed, and each one of them assume their fictional roles in the Ministry of Natural Resources seamlessly. Mummy and Mrs. Berkendale are fairly senior managers in the law enforcement side of the department, with Mr. Shacklebolt and Miss Tonks working under them. Then Mr. Zabini is a very senior undersecretary—just out of the way enough that his absence from the news is understandable, and Mr. Grenby, Mr. Colander, and Mrs. Strong work under him in various capacities.

The adult conversation switches to academia and Ned, Dennis, Jenny and I begin to become disinterested. I pull out a penny and begin flipping it around, doing tricks to amuse my friends.

Mummy pops out of the kitchen again. “Alright everyone, find a seat at the table, the meal is ready!”

She’s an excellent cook when she doesn’t use magic, and her magic only makes it taste even better. So everyone is basically silent eating the food, though a few “Mmm”s and “Yum”s can be heard around the table.

Once everyone is finished, Mummy gets the cake. I see it coming out, eleven candles burning brightly. “Mummy, you’re going to make all our guests fat, not even giving them a chance to let the main course settle!”

“Hush, Sabine. It’s your birthday, and you are my daughter, so I can serve the cake when I want to. Plus, it’s chocolate.”

That shuts me up. Then Mummy begins to sing, her voice ringing as fully as the church bells every Sunday.

“Happy birthday to you!” She sings.

Everyone joins in—better singers than I might find elsewhere, and mercifully, its over before long.

Mummy places the cake in front of me, and I blow out the candles in an instant. I take the proffered utensil, cutting a meaty piece for myself. Then I cut six or seven more slices in as equal portions as I can muster, before handing the knife back to Dad. He quickly divides the rest of the chocolate cake up so that everyone can get a piece.

* * *

“Sabine! Pet! It’s time to go!”

“I know! I’m coming.” I turn to Jenny and hug her. “I’ll write all the time. You shall know everything that happens! You have to write back. You gotta tell me whats going on here, how you’re doing!”

“I’m going to be _fine_ ,” she hisses. I glare at her. “OK, I’ll send you letters when I can.”

I hug her again, and then take the stairs four at a time to the living room.

Mummy just shakes her head. “Alright,” she says. “Before we head to London, your Dad and I have a final birthday present for you. We couldn’t give it to you yesterday, at the party, since it is magical and we couldn’t let everyone see it.”

“Okay,” I say. “Now you’re killing me with the suspense.”

Dad walks in with a wicker basket. Something is moving in it. He taps the side and a small creature flies out. Sleek black wings lift a four-legged creature out of the basket, sending it tumbling towards me. I catch the creature, which has white-tufted catlike ears, clawed fore-legs, hind legs that are much more cat than bird, and a long striped tail.

A sound that can only be characterized as a _squeal_ burst from my lips. “Ohmygosh! It’s so amazing!.”

“He’s a griffin—part bird, part cat. He’s a magical creature that takes the features from two species. For him specifically, he’s a hybrid between a raven and a Scottish wildcat. According to Newt Scamander, griffins are part of a family of magical creatures called chimeras, which he uses as a general term for these hybrid creatures.” Dad sounds so informed, despite being a Muggle.

He must have figured out what I was thinking and says, “Just because I don’t have magic doesn’t mean that I can’t study magical creatures. My doctorate is in the Muggle version of this field, so I’d like to think I can muddle my way around a wizarding biology text!”

“I love him already!” I stare down at the intelligent, definitely feline eyes. “What should I name him?”

Mummy says, “While we’re travelling, he can’t look like a Griffin, so I am going to put a glamour on him that makes him look like a common housecat, okay?.” I nod. “We have to leave now if we are going to make the train, so you can think about his name while we are on the way.”

Dad had already put my things in the car, so I place the griffin back in the basket, and Mummy casts a spell over him that turns him into a big, black, longhaired cat with a flat face.

We get into the car and Dad drives us to the station. When Mummy and I sit down on one of the benches, I exclaim, “I’ve got it! I am going to name him Borchgrevink. Or Borchy for short.”

“Why that name?”

“Borchgrevink was an early Antarctic explorer, one of the first people to set foot on the mainland and he set the Farthest South record in 1900. His record was beaten not long after, so most historians and the public tend to overlook him, but I think that he was cool, so I’m calling him Borchy.”

“I’m always amazed by your knowledge of Muggle history. I never could sit through those classes.”

“Well, you forced me to, so I chose to make the most of it.”

“Are you nervous?” Mummy gets serious. “I know I was when I was starting school.”

“Not really,” I say. “I mean, I’m like nervous about going to a new place for school, but not any more nervous than I would be going to like HMSG or something.”

“Ah, I remember when we thought about sending you there for your last two years before going to Hogwarts. I wanted to see you get some Welsh experiences. But you were to close with Jenny, alas, and we decided that two years would be too short of a time, anyways.”

“It’s alright. I’ll just go to muggle uni in Wales then. That should be enough Welshness for anyone. Right?”

Mummy laughs, “Of course.”

We pass the train ride talking about little of import, stepping out into King’s Cross Station. Thousands of people stream into and out of the dozens of trains in the station at the very moment. “Mummy,” I ask, when we step onto the platform and into the crowds of London. “What house do you think I’ll be sorted in.” I had read up on the history of Hogwarts over the last few days, and learned about the houses.

“Well, only the Sorting Hat really knows what house will suit you best. During the sorting ceremony, you’ll put the hat on your head, and then it will decide what traits are strong within you. None of the houses are any better than another—though some might try to tell you otherwise.

“Honestly, it doesn’t particularly matter which house you’re sorted into. Yeah, they make up your main friend-group while you are there, but it won’t really affect your life outside of school.”

“But do you think I’d be a Hufflepuff?”

“Why? Do you want to be one?”

“A house full of people who want nothing more than to be loyal to each other. It sounds like a right sight better than primary school.”

“You’d be surprised by the drama that unfolds within the Hufflepuff common rooms. But if you do want to be a Hufflepuff, then the hat will see it, and it’ll take that into account.”

“Thanks, Mummy.”

Now, we stand at the border between platforms nine and ten. “Okay, pet. Follow me. Walk with purpose and don’t stop unless I say so. It may help if you close your eyes.”

With one hand holding Borchy’s basket and the other my trunk, I don’t have any hand free to grab onto Mummy. So I step behind her and close my eyes, following the sound of her voice.

“Just follow me, pet. Only a few more steps, three, two, one, and done. You can open your eyes again.”

When I open my eyes the sights and sounds I’m assaulted with are completely different than the world I just left. Soot hangs in the air from the steam locomotive at the head of the platform, and the same diversity of costume I saw at Diagon Alley. Owls squawk as hundreds of people mill about.

“Yes, Father. I will keep an eye out.”

“Let’s go, kiddo.”

“Pet, I’ll hand your trunk to the conductor, go find a seat. You only have a few minutes.”

I turn to Mummy. She takes my trunk from me and I crash into her in a tight hug. “I’ll miss you.”

“Of course you will. I’ll write all the time.” She pushes me away by my shoulders and turns me to the train. “Now, go on! Meet new friends, have a good time!”

“Bye Mummy!”

“And Borchy’s glamour will wear off in about 5 minutes. Bye, now!”

I start walking towards the train. As I approach the door, a small, readheaded girl yells, “Where’s Harry!”

“Ron didn’t make it through, either.” This is a taller, boy readhead, standing next to another, identical boy. There is a positive gaggle of red-haired people milling about by one of the brick arches. The plump older woman is trying to comfort the little girl.

“I’m sure they made it, they just came in farther down the train. You’ll find them once you get on. Now GO! The train won’t wait for you!”

That admonishment is so fierce that I start involuntarily moving towards the train, realizing that I need to hurry as well.

Once I fight my way on, I look into my basket—Borchy is starting to look quite avian.

I look around for an empty compartment, slipping into the first one I can find. I put the basket down beside me, taking a seat and pulling the griffin onto my lap. I get so lost stroking the cat that I barely notice when a dark-skinned girl in a cute sundress knocks on the doorframe.

“May I sit here? I can’t find any open compartments,” she says, her voice small and shaky.

“Certainly. I’m not saving the seats for anyone.”

“That thing is _adorable_!” The girl’s voice suddenly becomes high and syrupy. “What is it?”

“He’s a type of griffin—half raven, half cat.” I smile at her. “My name’s Sabine, by the way?”

“I’m Mara. Mara Bass.”

“Good to meet you.”

“Is there a free seat?” The red-haired girl who was yelling about “Harry” earlier is at the door now.

I say, “Totally! I’m Sabine, and this is Mara.”

“I’m Ginny Weasley.” Her eyes fall on Borchy. “Ohmygosh that thing is beautiful. Is it a griffin?”

“Yeah,” I say. “His name is is Borchy.”

“He’s raven and wildcat, right,” another voice asks from the door, high and wispy.

“Yes. Come on in! I’m Sabine, and this is Mara.”

“I’m Luna. Hi Ginny!”

“Hi Luna. How’s your dad?”

“He’s fine. _The Quibbler_ isn’t doing particularly well though, and it’s hard on him.”

“What’s _The Quibbler_ ,” asks Mara.

“It’s a magazine that my father publishes.”

“Oh! My Dad works for _National Geographic_. He’s a wildlife photographer.” Mara blushes a bit. “He’s a muggle. Both my parents are.”

“My dad’s a muggle too,” I say. “Though Mummy’s a witch. My dads a professor of evolutionary biology at Queen’s College in Cambridge. Mummy works for the Ministry, she’s the director of the Aurors.”

“Aurors?”

“Aurors are like wizarding police,” says Ginny. “My dad also works in the ministry, he’s in the Department of Muggle Affairs. He deals with rectifying accidental exposure of muggles to magic. Some other stuff like that as well.”

We talk for a while, as the train moves through the English countryside. “Anyone for snacks?” Ginny asks.

“What do you mean?”

“The trolley lady should be coming by any minute now. She has a bunch of snacks and candies and treats.”

Just as Ginny finishes telling us about it, a clear, matronly voice rings through the corridor of the coach. “Anyone for the trolley? Anyone for the trolley?”

“I’d like a pumpkin pasty, a box of Botts’, and a cauldron cake!” Ginny is excited as she bounces to the woman pushing the candy cart. She hands a pair of silver sickles over as she receives her food.

“I’d like the same,” I say, handing my pair of silver coins over. The other two girls get a chocolate frog each.

“I’d be careful with those,” Ginny says to Mara. “Chocolate frogs are liable to try to jump when you open the box.”

So Mara puts the box to her mouth, and upends it as she pulls off the cover. The frog drops straight in. Mara clamps her jaw shut over the frog. Her hand flies to her mouth as we all giggle.

“It’s moving!” She manages, and we all laugh even harder. Eventually she works out how to bite down on it, and the frog stills in her mouth.

I open my box of Bertie Botts’ Every Flavoured Beans and pick up a dark red one at random.

“I don’t eat those anymore,” says Luna, “On Christmas, I got a box, and the first one I picked up was vomit flavored. I didn’t realize it until I put the bean in my mouth.”

Mara gasps. “Ew!”

They look a lot like jelly beans. Red is usually something like cherry. _What’s the worst that can happen?_ I pop it in my mouth and chew.

My mouth fills with a metallic taste. My face scrunches up as I force myself to swallow it. “Blood flavored,” I say, managing not to sound freaked.

“That’s a rare one, I think that Fred got it once. George made jokes about it for weeks.” Ginny is smirking.

“Who are they?”

“Fred and George are the twins. They’re two of my older brothers, going into fourth year now. Percy is a seventh year, Ron is the year above us, and I have two brothers who’ve already graduated Hogwarts, Bill and Charlie.”

“That’s a lot!” I picture the crowd that was surrounding Ginny on the platform. “There were only three on the platform. The twins, I think, and a short one with glasses and the most pretentious look about him.”

Luna giggles. “That’d be Percy. Yeah, Ginny. What happened to Ron?”

“He and Harry—that’s Harry Potter—were right behind us when we entered the platform, but they didn’t come in after us. I have no idea what happened to them. George said that he couldn’t find the two anywhere on the train.”

“Wait,” I say, “You don’t mean to say that you are friends with _THE_ Harry Potter?”

“Well,” Ginny blushes. “I’m not, exactly. Ron and him are best mates though, and he stayed at our house for a while this summer, after Fred and George broke him out of his aunt’s place.”

“What house are they in?” Mara finally has the opportunity to steer the conversation towards the topic that she really wanted to talk about.

“They are all Gryffindor, except for Fred. He’s a Hufflepuff. Everyone thinks that I’ll be a Gryffindor too. But I’m not sure I want to be one.”

“I’m going to be in Ravenclaw, I think,” says Luna. “My father is, and I’m enough like him that I’m likely to be sorted the same.”

“Then I’m probably gonna be a Ravenclaw too. Mummy’s one and she and I are like the same!”

“I’ve been reading up on the houses a little. Doesn’t it seem like the houses try to organize themselves into a hierarchy? I mean, there is the leadership house—Slytherin, and then the fighting house, Gryffindor, and the brainy house, Ravenclaw. Then like it seems that Hufflepuff is just for those who are left.”

“There are definitely those who share that sentiment. More often than not, they tend to end up in Slytherin and use that to lord it over the rest of us.” Ginny looked positively hateful.

“Not all Slytherins are that bad. But all the houses can be nice. It really depends on personality more than anything else. You can be smart and sorted into a house other than Ravenclaw, brave and not end up in Griffindor, loyal, and not be a Hufflepuff, ambitious and not a Slytherin. It’s what’s the strongest part of you, what drives you more than the other traits.”

“Whatever house you get placed on, we will still be friends.”

“Definitely.”

As time goes by our conversation dies down a bit, and we finally give in to silence. Eventually, we go to the luggage car to find our trunks and change into our uniforms. Slowly, the train finally reaches the destination, and we all file out at the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jenny. I feel bad doing this too her, but now I get to have fun with another muggle in the family, so win? IDK. I really hope you'll give me some comments or kudos or both, they really help me want to continue writing the chapter, since it indicates that y'all want to read it!
> 
> Also I'm still bad at chapter endings, but I hit 5,000 words again and I felt the need to stop writing


	3. The Sorting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if you read the first two chapters carefully, you might have noticed some inconsistencies. Sorry about that, when writing the second chapter, I totally forgot that I made Sabine’s Mum one of the people who introduced muggle-borns to the wizarding world. I am going to have to find a way to make that work in the future… Lol.
> 
> Also I changed the weather in the first scene quite drastically, from being oppressively hot when Sabine is in her room to being nice and pleasant when she goes to hang out with her friends. Sorry. I might fix those later. Or maybe not, just to see if anyone catches that without reading this…
> 
> So now everyone’s at Hogwarts and you get to see who gets sorted where, YAY.
> 
> Also, don’t expect this update schedule to keep up as time goes on. I have a four term college curriculum and the first term is just ending. My schedule changes drastically, as I return to campus after doing a project in New Mexico, so I will probably not have the same ability to work or be inspired for this as often. Please don’t worry though, I will come back to this eventually.

# The Sorting Ceremony (September 1, 1992)

The train rolls to a stop finally. After travelling through so much countryside that we had to be well within Scotland, we finally enter a town and the train stops at a platform with actual people on it.

Conversation had died out already, with everyone just diving into their books. So glad are we that the train has reached our destination that we almost forget our trunks in the luggage car. As we run to get them, a older student with raven-black hair scolds us. “You, first years! No need to get your bags. They will be retrieved for you and brought to your dorms once you’ve been sorted. Go outside and find Mr Hagrid. He will tell you what to do.”

I have no idea who ‘Mr Hagrid’ is, but Ginny seems to. Her face lights up ever so slightly at the mention of the name and she strides confidently out of the train. Chasing after her, we jog outside and I nearly bump into a tallish boy with platinum-blonde hair.

“Oi! Watch where you are going!” His voice drips with venom. He turns to his two cronies in green-trimmed robes—he’s wearing blue trimming. “I hope that this filth isn’t sorted into _my_ house. Can’t even be bothered to pay attention to her surroundings, who knows how little she will be able to concentrate in classes?” He sniggers.

I spin on my heel away from them, putting on my best strut—not wearing high heels, it isn’t that impressive. I scan for this ‘Hagrid’ person.

“Firs’ Years! Firs’ Years o’er ’ere!” I don’t have to look hard. The source of the voice is the largest person I have ever seen. Standing strong at just about 8 feet tall, is a rotund hulking man framed by a messy mat of greying, brown, hair.

I pick up my pace towards the near-giant.

“All right,” he is saying. “If you all will follow me, we ca’ get you to the boats. You’ll be ’eaded to ’Ogwarts across the lake this year!”

His strides are so big that even the largest of us have to take three steps for every one of his. We scurry behind him through a small, tame wood. The trees block out the light for a while, but just as quickly relinquish their hold on the stars, showing us the lake.

There are two docks jutting from the bank of the lake, painted boats lining the sides, their colors stark against the black lakewater. I gasp at all the pretty colors—students must have painted them at some point.

I’m not the only one gasping. “We’re crossing the lake in _those_ things?”

“I’m not getting on one of those rickety old things if it’s the last thing I do!”

“Oh, yes yer are!” Hagrid’s voice is firm. “If you want to get to ’Ogwarts, this is the only way you’ll get there. All right. In yer get!”

The boats sit four, and I hop in with Ginny, Mara, and Luna. “Where did you get off to?”

“Oh some blonde prick nearly ran into me and had the audacity to blame me for it.”

“Sounds like Malfoy,” Ginny mutters under her breath.

“Huh?”

“Draco Malfoy is a second year, he’s tortured my brother to no end—not that he doesn’t deserve it. He’s the latest in a line of pure-blooded prats. They almost disowned him when he was sorted into Ravenclaw last year. Everyone just assumed that he’d be a Slytherin and it came as a huge surprise. He’s still one of the most annoying pieces of dung here, apparently.”

The boats begin moving of their own accord, prompting an “Ooh” from Mara. Moving away from the cove, Hogwarts Castle comes out from behind the hills.

And it is _gorgeous_! All of the remaining castles in southern England, and even most of the ones in mainland Europe are absolutely dwarfed by the magnificence of the architecture. Imposing towers reach to the sky from every place imaginable, with arches and sky corridors and all sorts of gothic features barely visible against the evening sky.

And the Great Hall is splendorous all on its own. Lights pour from the windows, with its cathedral ceilings reaching high into the black—light even filters through the ceilings, streaming into the night sky.

“Omigosh, its even more impressive than I imagined when reading _Hogwarts, a History_!”

“Of course it is. Hogwarts is the oldest surviving magical building in the British Isles.”

“I can’t wait to actually be in—” Suddenly something large splashes behind us.

A boat is completely capsized behind us, with its four occupants flailing wildly in the water around it. Hagrid’s boat slides silently beside it. He reaches under the lip of the upside-down craft and flips it over. Then with one hand apiece, he pulls the struggling unfortunates out of the water and returns them to their seats. “And tha’, ladies and gents, is why we take yer luggage all separate to the castle.”

The sopping wet students huddle as close to the center of the boat as they can while we all slide up to the docks under a wing of the castle that extends over the lake.

Ropes snake out from the dock on their own initiative, tying the boats in place.

“E’ryone, get onto the dock. McGonagal should be here in jus’ a moment to le’ yer all in.”

We all scramble on to the docks, some looking grateful to be on stable land again.

Hagrid is true to his word, the door opens only a few seconds after the last student gets her footing on the docks—it’s the Lewis girl who was in Olivander’s wandshop with me this summer—and a stern-looking witch in shimmering green robes steps out on the deck.

“Good evening. I’m Professor McGonagal, the Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Professor here. Welcome to your first year at Hogwarts. If you will follow me, we can make our way to the Great Hall.” The imposing witch turns on her heel, and strides back into the building. “Hagrid, I shall see you at the feast!”

The large man grunts in response. We all scurry behind her. She leads up the stairs to a expansive waiting hall. “In a few moments, the Sorting Ceremony will begin,” the Professor says. “You will be placed into one of the four Hogwarts Houses, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. These houses each have their own dedicated living areas around the castle. You will room with the other members of this class who are sorted into the same house as you. They will be like your surrogate family while here.

“Each house has prefects appointed from the most senior years, who will be showing you the ropes and ensuring that you know and follow the rules. Rule-breakers shall lose points for their house or even be assigned detentions as punishments.

“Houses each keep a running tally of points earned and lost by its students, and that will be displayed here, in front of the Great Hall. Misbehavior and poor academic performance will lose your houses points, while exemplary behavior and outstanding effort will be rewarded. The house with the most points at the end of the year will win the House Cup.”

McGonagal turns her head towards the double doors—which presumably lead to the Great Hall—listening for something. “I will return in a few moments to bring you all into the Hall to be sorted. Everyone stay here and don’t cause trouble while I am gone.”

She pushes open the door and moves into the hall.

Instantly, chatter opens up among all of us. “I wonder how sorting works,” exclaims one girl.

“I hope it’s not painful,” says a boy.

“It can’t be _that_ bad,” says another, “I hear in a school in Germany, they make you reach your hand into a bag of model dragons and the one that you choose is the house you get. And the dragon models act like the actual dragons too—fire breathing monsters and all.”

Some people shudder at that. I turn towards the girl from the wandshop. “Hi, I’m Sabine, I think I saw you at Olivander’s this summer?”

“Oh, yeah, you are the girl who has the super fancy wand. I hope that you can live up to it. I’m Caroline, by the way. Caroline Lewis.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Indeed.”

“What house do you think you’ll be sorted into?”

“Slytherin.” She doesn’t wait even a beat before answering. “Like my parents and their parents before them. My cousin is going to be a Hufflepuff though.” The venom in her voice as she says the name of the house takes me by surprise.

Instead of confronting her about it, I turn back to Ginny and Mara. “Are you nervous?”

They both nod, wordless.

Moments later, the doors swing wide open, and McGonagal stands in front of us all again.

We follow her into the side of the hall, between the students tables and the long staff table on the raised dais. The professor gestures for us to stop and then strides to stand next to a stool with a shabby-looking old hat sitting on it.

A moment later, the hat starts _singing_!

> It was ten centuries past,  
>  A time when I was but new.  
>  Students to this school did queue,  
>  Asking me for a home here.
> 
> The founding wizards were four,  
>  And I asked each, “Which students are yours?”  
>  Gryffindor said, “The bold can save the world.”  
>  For Ravenclaw, “The clever can learn from me.”

> Hufflepuff respected those who worked hard.  
>  “The diligent can accomplish anything.”  
>  And Slytherin wanted those who lead.  
>  “Without leaders, how can we last?”
> 
> Before me, the founders did quarrel,  
>  Many students appealed to them all.  
>  They worked to find the best choice,  
>  But sometimes they were wrong.
> 
> Yet, Gryffindor, solved their trouble.  
>  He took me off his head.  
>  I was given brains,  
>  Equal to the best wizards of the age.
> 
> With me, they said,  
>  No student would be placed wrong,  
>  No quarrel would take long.  
>  I would put students where they belong!

**A/N I know the song is terrible. I’m bad at anything resembling poetry or lyrics, meter or rhyming schemes. Please forgive me**

The hat quiets down. The faces around the hall look oddly disappointed.

McGonagal reads from a scroll floating in front of her. “Adams, Casey!”

For a second, no one moved, then a short boy with jet-black hair and steely eyes steps forward, looking confused. He hesitates for a second, and then walks to the Professor and sits on the stool. The stern witch places the hat on his head. It’s so big that it falls over his eyes.

Moments pass. Then the hat yells, “RAVENCLAW!”

Everyone at the second table from the far wall cheers. He hops off the chair and heads over towards all the students with blue-trimmed uniforms.

McGonagal clears her throat. “Allen, Isaac!”

A taller boy, this time with frizzy brown hair and a stocky frame, hurries down to the sorting hat.

It barely touches his head before the hat yells “RAVENCLAW” as well.

Then “Arnold, Carl” is called to be sorted. A skinny boy sits on the stool. The hat seems to think for a while, before announcing “HUFFLEPUFF!”

I look at Mara. _Is she going to be next?_ But then McGonagal calls, “Bailey, Alexis.”

A red-head looks up, almost surprised. She walks down and is quickly sorted into “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Ballard, Chris!”

The dusky-skinned boy gets a full ten seconds of consideration before being sorted into Slytherin.

“Ballard, Noel!”

A lighter-skinned girl who’s features are very similar to the previous Ballard’s—besides her outlandish purple hair—sits on the stool and the hat immediately announces, “GRYFFINDOR!”

“Bass, Mara!”

She swallows. I pat her shoulder. “Whatever you get, it’ll work out.” I smile at her.

She gets on the stool and quite quickly gets her decision. “RAVENCLAW!”

More than a dozen more names are sorted before “Creevy, Colin” is sorted into Gryffindor. I prepare myself for a long ride.

Ten minutes go by, and we are barely into the “H”s. “Harper, James” is sorted into Slytherin.

Caroline’s guess is accurate. The hat announces “SLYTHERIN!” before it is two inches from her head.

Luna’s pretty quickly sorted into Ravenclaw. Even I cheer a bit for her.

“Martin, Maria” is sorted into “Hufflepuff!” This prompts the loudest cheers I’ve heard all night.

“Moody, Laurie” goes to the Slytherins, resulting in some Boos from the Gryffindors. _Is she related to Mad-Eye? Mummy’s always talking about his impact on the Aurors._

Finally, I hear my name. “Over, Sabine!”

I take a deep breath and then leave the much depleted crowd—though there’s still almost forty remaining. Sitting on the stool, McGonagal drops the hat over my ears.

“Well, Sabine,” the Hat says, though the voice seems to be inside my head. “What should I do with you… You’re brave, for sure, and you work hard, but I don’t think those qualities drown out your thirst for knowledge. You absorb information like a sponge, don’t you?”

I feel my head nod, involuntarily. “Well, then… For you, its RAVENCLAW!”

The Ravenclaw table cheers loudly. Everyone except for the blonde boy I ran into outside the train. _Draco Malfoy_. I skip over, sitting down next to Mara and across from Luna.

The sorting drags on. “Padilla, Tyler!” A small blonde girl gets quickly sorted into Hufflepuff.

After a few more go through. “Rhodes, Laurence!”

A boy, already burly and somewhat muscular, bounces over to the Professor. The hat doesn’t wait to yell, “RAVENCLAW!”

Finally, with only eight or nine remaining, I hear, “Weasley, Ginevra!”

I giggle a bit at her full first name. She quickly sits on the stool. The hat chooses to deliberate for quite a while, the longest so far.

After almost two minutes—her red-headed siblings sitting at the Gryffindor table begin to look nervous—the hat says, “Better be, RAVENCLAW!”

The Gryffindor Weasleys boo loudly, but everyone at our table cheers to try to offset it.

At the Hufflepuff table, one of the twins—Fred, I remember—is standing, cheering as loudly as our whole house.

I give him a thumbs-up. He waves when he sees it.

Finally, almost five minutes later, “Yaxley, Ramona” is sorted into Gryffindor.

“Phew,” the dark-haired Ravenclaw that had directed us outside instead of towards our trunks breathes. “That took long enough. Now we should be able to eat!”

But then the grey-haired wizard sitting in the middle of the staff table stood. “I know that everyone is famished from their travels, but I have a few words to say before we all dig in. Welcome—welcome back! Mr Filch would like to remind everyone that the list of banned items is outside his office, and that if he sees any one of them in the possession of a student, there will be strict penalties.

“I would also tell our first years, that the Black Forest is forbidden to all students unaccompanied by a staff member—this is something that quite a few elder students could do with a reminder on as well!

“Now, everyone, dig in!”

Food appears up and down the middles of all the tables in the halls. I grab a few things that look particularly interesting to me. A chicken drumstick dripping with a dark sauce, a round pastry that seems filled with various meats and vegetables, a multi-colored apple, and a bell pepper stuffed with so many different things that I can’t identify them all.

“Gosh,” I say, between bites of the chicken, “This is spectacular!”

“Just wait ’till dessert,” the helpful boy from the train says. “Nothing can match what the House Elves here can put out for desserts!”

“So who are the people on the head table? We know Hagrid and McGonagal, and I assume the grey-haired man in the middle is Dumbledore, but what about the rest.”

“Well,” says the older boy. “To Dumbledore’s left (our right), we have Professor Snape. He’s the head of Slytherin House, and the Potions professor. Then we also have Professor Flitwick—he’s the really tiny one—he teaches charms and is the Head of our house. Professor Sprout is the lady in the robes that seem to have vines growing from them. She’s the Herbology professor, and is in charge of Hufflepuff.

“Then there is Professor Binns—he’s the Ghost. He teaches History of Magic. Take my word for it, if you are interested in the subject, pay no attention to his lectures. He manages to make the most entertaining parts of magical history so dry and boring that you could sleep through it while drinking a coffee every five minutes.

“Then there is Professor Sinistra. She teaches astronomy. Her homework can get killer, but she’s nice enough. The others teach classes that you can choose to take starting in third year.

“I’m ignoring Lockhart, by the way. You should know who he is by now. He’s the blonde one with the stupid grin that doesn’t seem any natural.”

I laugh at that. “Well Mummy gave me her Defense Against the Dark Arts books, so I think I shall be able to suffer through his classes without getting too down.”

“That’s the spirit.”

When the desserts arrive, I can only manage a few bites of a extremely rich chocolate cake before I have to put my spoon down.

A tall girl with a short bob and prominent nose that tends towards the polish stands once most of the first years seem finished with their meals. “Ravenclaw first-years!” Her voice carries clearly over the chatter throughout the hall. “Come, follow me. I’m Yolanda, the fifth year female prefect for the house. I will bring you up to Ravenclaw tower and show you the ropes of being a Ravenclaw!”

We follow her out the much larger front doors to the hall. She brings us to the main staircases that crisscross their way up the castle. “These stairs tend to move on their own, switching locations. They have a quite predictable pattern for the most part, so once you get the hang of them, you should be able to make it anywhere you want quite efficiently. Ravenclaw tower’s entrance is on the Seventh Floor.”

She studies the staircases for a few seconds, then gestures for all of us to follow her.

As we scamper up flight after flight of stairs, Yolanda explains much of inner workings of getting around Hogwarts, mentioning a number of passageways that might work as shortcuts when trying to get around. She points them out as we walk by.

One of the staircases moves more quickly than the rest, cutting Ginny and I off from the rest of the group. “Now what?”

We hop onto a landing and Ginny looks to the stairs above us, trying to make sense of their movement. I study it with her.

It looks completely random to me. If I focus on only a stair case or two, I can get some sense of how they move, but as soon as I try to rout more than a few flights together, I feel like I’m looking at an impenetrable mess.

After about a minute, Ginny says, “I think I have most of it. Follow me.”

She takes off at a run up the flight of stairs going up from our landing at the moment the staircase locks into place. Jogging after her, I thank the fates that I had chosen to wear trainers today instead of heels. We thread our way up four flights of stairs.

Then Ginny stops me, throwing her arm out. I skid to a halt just before getting clotheslined by her outstretched limb. She’s counting under her breath. “Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.”

Then she pulls me forward by the hand and take of _down_ a new flight of stairs. We hit the landing, do a one-eighty, and run right back up the staircase as it moves to a different landing. Three more staircases later, we reach the seventh floor, only seeing the door to Ravenclaw tower close behind the last first year. We slowly approach the door, catching our breath.

The door has an elaborate knocker but no handle. With no better idea, I use the knocker.

The bird’s face grows out from the bas relief engraving in the middle of the brass knocker. It’s unmistakably a raven. Its mouth opens. “What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?” It’s a querulous voice that emerges from the beak. “Answer the riddle and you shall enter.”

I look at Ginny, who shrugs. “How long do we have to answer?”

“As long as you need.”

“Isn’t that riddle from _Macbeth_?” I vaguely remember it from seeing the play at The Globe last summer, but I don’t remember the answer.

“Indeed. But that doesn’t let you enter. You must answer the riddle.”

“You know a shipwright doesn’t actually build. They just design the ships. It’s carpenters who actually manufacture the wooden ships, or plain old factory workers for more modern ones. So anything can build stronger than a shipwright, since all they actually make is paper, and that is quite weak.”

“Just answer the riddle.”

“Okay.” I think for a second. “The tide.”

“Incorrect. Would the other lady like to try.”

“Hey,” I snap at the door. “The tide is to correct!”

The raven’s head actually moves to face me. “The answer is not ‘The Tide’.”

“It is definitely a valid answer. The tides erode away the ground below any construction a mason can create if it close enough to the water. For shipwrights, even if you choose to say that they create ships, I’ve heard plenty of stories of ships being wrecked by the tides. And carpenters create items that can be destroyed easily by those same forces.

“Thus,” I conclude, “The tide is stronger than any of them.”

“The tide does not build.” The raven’s voice is implacable.

“It creates canyons, beaches, islands and mountains. Each of those outlast anything made by man. The oldest surviving tallship isn’t more than 400 years old. There are few wooden constructions older. Statues can exist for a few millennia without magic, but even those degrade. While there are beaches that have been nearly constant for a billion years.”

“All right, I must confess that you’ve met all the criteria for a correct answer to the riddle. You may enter. The expected answer to the riddle was ‘A gravedigger.’ Goodnight.”

The door swings open and the bird’s face returns to become embossed on the knocker.

Ginny and I enter. The common room is enormous. Couches, tables, chairs, and even small desks are haphazardly arranged around the room, with students of all ages lounging comfortably around the room.

We see the crowd of first years heading up a staircase, so we scurry to catch up to them. They are gathered tightly before a fork in the staircases. “These are the two wings of Ravenclaw Tower. They lead to the Boys tower and the Girls tower. Because this year’s Ravenclaw class is more than double than any of the older years, you’ve been divided into two separate rooms for each gender. You will see your names on the doors.”

“Boys go to the left,” says a boy prefect. “Girls to the right. Up you get.”

We walk up several stories worth of spiral staircase in the Girl’s tower. The first floor we passed is for second years, and then the years ho up until reaching seventh years. The next floor up has some of our names plastered on the door: “Bass, Mara; Christensen, Kim; Curry Samantha; Doyle, Barbara; Jennings, Patsy; Lovegood, Luna; Luna, Desiree.”

The seven of them peel off the staircase and into the room. We continue on to the highest floor. Our six remaining names look to be burnt into the door. “MacDougal, Morag; Over, Sabine; Patrick, Natasha; Scott, Essie; Thomas, Alexandra; Weasley, Ginevra.”

I grab the handle and step inside. The room is lit by hundreds of tiny pinpricks of light floating inches from the ceiling. No light is very bright, but all of them, together, create an atmosphere light enough to read in without straining ones eyes. Six four-poster beds sit along the curving outer wall, aligned along 30 degree divisions of arc.

Behind the central area where the staircases are is a bathroom and shower.

I turn to find my bed. Borchy is lying, curled up, on the bed directly across from the entrance. My trunk and stack of books lies at the foot.

I skip to the bed and grab the griffin tight to my chest, delivering a light kiss to the creature’s forehead.

“Ooh, that griffin is soo pretty!” Morag’s voice squeaks as she admires my birthday present.

“His name is Borchy,” I say, not really focusing on her. “He’s named after a muggle explorer.”

“He’s got nothing on Regina!” Natasha’s determined voice rings across the dorm, a enormous striped cat standing next to her. It’s practically as long as she is tall. “She’s a Maine Coon Cat, and she is the most wonderful thing to ever exist.”

_That’s what her accent is._ Natasha’s voice skipped most ’r’s and seemed to over-enunciate certain vowels.

Essie turns to face Ginny and me. “You didn’t enter with us. What riddle did you have to answer?”

“It was,” I pause, trying to remember the exact wording. “What am I that builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright or a carpenter? It’s from Macbeth.”

“Oh, I remember that play,” yells Alexandra. “It’s a gravedigger, isn’t it?”

“That’s what the official answer was,” says Ginny, “but Sabine decided to be overly clever and argue that the tide is an acceptable one as well.”

“Hmm,” muses Natasha, “I can see that. Some of the coolest pieces of geography are caused by the tides, and those can last for tens of thousands of years.”

Morag pipes up. “Well, I think that’s the quickest I’ve heard of someone winning an argument against the door-raven. My sister—she’s a seventh year now—said that the earliest a first year had ever did that was like 4 weeks into term.”

“I just didn’t want to be wrong. I basically made up reasons until I could get in.”

Everyone laughs at my confession.

“That’s basically how one justifies anything, isn’t it?” Essie’s voice was light. I mean that’s how my Dad always explains it.

I shrug. “I don’t know, I still feel like I cheated. I think the raven just got tired of me arguing.”

“We will soon find out.”

With that, every one of us exhausted, we start to wash up for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks. Sabine’s first year is officially begun. We have a few canon characters for you to feast your eyes over. Yes Fred is a Hufflepuff and Draco is a Ravenclaw. These changes may seem not so significant or very significant to you, depending on how much you value someone’s house in making them who they are.
> 
> I will tell you that it’s somewhere in the middle of both extremes. Draco is still the same amount of an ass, but his prejudices lie more along the lines of intellectual elitism rather than blood purity (though there is a certain amount of that as well). And Fred isn’t much different at all. But the house changes are going to have far-reaching consequences.
> 
> I was tempted to put Riddle’s diary into the chapter as well (Ginny still gets it from Lucius) but I know that she’s supposed to fall into a bit of a dark place first.
> 
> The plot will pick up pace pretty soon, I think. The next chapter is the beginning of classes, but Halloween and petrification comes up p quickly, and then stuff only accelerates from there. I have the rest of _CoS_ and _PoA_ plotted out, and there are only 19 chapters between them, so you can see how quickly we will be moving through them.
> 
> I’m gonna restate it for effect. This pace of a chapter every 5 days or so is not going to last—I mean I hope it is, but I doubt it. I go home for break in a couple days, but I might get a bunch written on the plane. In other words, I make no guarantees about how long it will be till the next official update.
> 
> But I will try to answer any questions, talk about stuff, etc. if you comment/review any part of this.
> 
> Also, thanks for following, faving, giving kudos or just reading! It means so much to me.


	4. Chapter 4: Hogwarts, An Introduction (Sept 2-8, 1992)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabine gets settled in at Hogwarts and tells Jenny about her time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I warned you that this chapter would take a little longer than the last, but I am still sorry it took so long. I'm also sorry is isn't quite as long as the other updates. Last Friday I submitted our group's term paper, which was a 150 page monstrosity, and then I flew back to school, had to clean out my apartment, and then went home. Somewhere in that I hit some writer's block, but I think I figured out a combination of formats that I can write pretty well.

Every one of us wakes at the first hint of dawn. The excitement of our first day at Hogwarts kept all of us from sleeping soundly. As sunrise hails the new day, each of us finally gives up on a good night’s sleep and starts preparing for the day. Stepping into slippers, I grab my toiletries and walk around the tower to the washroom. I put everything down next to the sink, hang my nightie on a hook, and step into one of the three showers.

Letting hot water flow over my shoulders, I mentally prepare myself. This is going to be completely like any part of primary school. _At least I’ve made some friends already_. Not moments after entering my shower, I hear both of the other showers add their splashing to my own.

After washing up, I brush my teeth, and return to the foot of my bed, where my trunk resides. Opening it, I take out one of the school robes that Mummy had folded crisply for me. After putting on the Ravenclaw uniform—standard Hogwarts gear with a blue tie and blue trimming on the lapel of the robe (everything properly colored itself when I put it on for the first time, which is _so_ cool)—I place my books in my rucksack, grab my wand, a few notebooks, and a pen, and head towards the common room.

“I’ll wait for all of you in the common room, and then we can head to break our fast,” I call behind me as I step out of our dormitory and take the spiral staircase, two steps at a time, down to the common room. It’s empty when I arrive, not a single person is awake before me. I settle into one of the couches and start rifling through my books, considering studying one of them some, while I wait for my roommates to come down.

“Hi Sabine,” a distracted sounding voice calls from the entrance to the staircase. “You seem to be waiting for someone.”

I turn to, as expected, see Luna’s platinum hair moving towards me from the stairs. “I’m waiting for my roommates, so we can go to breakfast together. Do you want to join us?”

“That sounds like a wonderful plan.” Luna begins to yawn, but quickly covers her mouth.

I giggle. “Sleep well?”

“As matter of fact,” she replies. “I slept better than I have for weeks. Didn’t wake up once during the night. There are more people for the nargles to pester, I expect.”

“Nargles?”

“Don’t get her started on nargles,” Ginny calls as she enters the common room. “That’s not a rabbit hole you want to dive down today.”

I look at the two of them quizzically. “If you say so. How long do you think the others will be?”

“Well, Natasha only just got out of the shower, so she’ll be at least five minutes, but I could have sworn the others were just behind me.”

As if on cue, the others—Essie, Alexandra, and Morag—practically bowl Ginny over as they emerge from the stairwell. All for of them fall into a tangled mess in front of my couch.

I can barely contain my laughter. “You all are ridiculous.” I grab Ginny’s arm and help her up; then the Luna and the two of us help the remaining three to their feet.

Then Natasha pops out of the stairwell, her tie streaming behind her—untied—and her hair pooffing up around her ears, instead of being tied back as it was last night.

“I don’t know how to tie a tie,” she says.

Laughing, I wave my wand in her general direction. “ _Torque ligaba!_ ”

The blue- and black-striped necktie looped about itself and forms a perfect knot in front of her collar. “There,” I say, triumphantly.

“No fair,” says Essie. “You did your first spell before we even started classes. At least give us a chance!”

“Not until after we eat,” I call back, heading straight for the door.

The seven of us hurry down the incomprehensible staircases and right to the Great Hall. Trying the doors, we find that we can’t get in.

“I guess they don’t start serving food yet.”

“What time is it, actually?”

We all shrug, but moments later, the bells in the clocktower begin to ring.

“Half past something,” I comment.

“Sunrise was at quarter to six this morning,” says Natasha. “So it’s got to be 6:30 now.” At our questioning looks, she elaborates, “I read the almanac for Hogsmeade before I got here.”

We sit on a bench across from the enormous double doors of the Great Hall, actually getting to know each other.

“Me mum’s a muggle,” says Alexandra. “She works as a clerk at the Croydon City Hall. I never really knew me Da; He didn’t stick around long enough for me to meet him. But we’re pretty sure he was a wizard.”

“My parents moved to Sheffield last summer—they’re both muggles,” says Natasha. “Before that, we lived in Portland, Maine.” Seeing Essie’s confusion, she adds, “In America.”

“My Dad’s a muggle,” I chime in. “He teaches Evolutionary Biology—the science of how creatures have changed over the past few million years—at the University of Cambridge.” I add the explanation after seeing the blank look on Morag’s face. “My Mummy’s a witch though. She’s at the Ministry, in the Auror department.”

Morag adds, “Both my parents are witches. One of my mum’s work for the ministry, while the other is an Apothecary. She runs a shop at Diagon Alley.”

“My dad edits and publishes _The Quibbler_ , a magazine. My mum died when I was young though.”

“I’m sorry,” says Essie.

“It’s not your fault,” replies Luna I barely even got to know her. Apparently she was a fairly good inventor of spells."

“I’m a pureblood, too,” Ginny says. “The Weasley name is even in ‘The Book’.” Her hands show her disdain of the said book. “Not that anyone in our family cares. Yeah, there are wizards in our family going back for generations, but there are also just as many muggles and muggle-borns who’ve married in.

“I think I have a great aunt who is muggle-born.”

Everyone chuckles.

“Both my parents are Muggle-born,” says Essie. “They warned me about the types of prejudice that’s really common here at Hogwarts—and in British Magic in general.”

“In America, it’s a bit different, immagical blood isn’t really looked down upon. I mean, you apparently have to show your ability a little more than a pureblood in order to get people to trust it, but there isn’t really a glass ceiling for new-magicals. Though, anyone who’s main experiences are with anything but traditionally western, Greco-Roman magic—those people are the ones who get treated terribly.” Natasha’s face is scrunched in disgust. “Add that to plain old American racism, and my parents realised that St. Georges—The elite wizard school in New England—wasn’t going to be for me. So when Dad got a job offer as a regional director of an office in England, we jumped at the opportunity.”

“I wouldn’t say that the prejudices here will be any nicer to you than back in the US,” says Essie. “My mum’s best friend in school was a Pakistani—a pureblooded one, mind you—and the entire school, Slytherins especially, were merciless.”

“Well, we did what we did. And we’ll see how it turns out.”

The clock chimes the hour and the doors to the Great Hall swing open.

We take a seat at Ravenclaw table. As we sit, platters of eggs, bacon, sausages, breakfast pies, and more suddenly appear, joined by huge pitchers of an opaque amber liquid. “Ooh,” says Ginny. “Pumpkin Juice!”

We all grab all the food that we want and begin to eat ravenously. Professor McGonagal enters from the other side of the hall as we had come in for the sorting ceremony while we are eating. “You seven are up early,” she remarks.

“We’re just really excited,” Ginny says.

“And a bit nervous,” I admit.

“And we got hungry,” Essie manages to announce through more than a mouthful of omelet.

McGonagal even chuckles at that last. “Normally, your head of house would give you your schedules, but as Professor Flitwick won’t be down for at least half an hour more, I might as well tell you now. So that you won’t have to sit here when you inevitably eat more than your fill in the next few seconds.” She eyes Essie.

“Okay. So, Miss Patrick, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood, Miss Scott, Miss Over; you five will have History of Magic first this morning, from 9 AM to 10:30. At two thirty, you will all have Defense Against the Dark Arts, until four. Tomorrow, and every Thursday thereafter, you will have another History of Magic lecture, this time at ten thirty, for an hour. After lunch, at 1:30 you will be with me for Transfiguration. That class will be two hours. Fridays, you will have Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“On Mondays you will have a 3 hour period of Potions. On Tuesdays, it will be Charms and Transfiguration again.” _How am I going to remember all of that?_

McGonagal waves her wand and conjures five sheets of parchment, with our schedules written on them.

“Miss Thomas, Miss MacDougal, Your schedules are here.” Two more parchments appear, flying towards their respective owners. McGonagal nods to us and takes a seat at the head table, taking a steaming mug that appears the moment she sits down.

Professor McGonagal’s prediction is right. The first big wave of students comes in to the Great Hall just as we finish up all that we can manage to stuff into our mouths.

Mara plops down onto the bench next to me. “How did you sleep?”

“Alright, I guess,” I say. “And you?”

“Like a babe.” Mara smiles. “What’s good?” She gestures at the food.

“Everything. But go for the omelets over the eggs Benedict. They have all sorts of cool things in them.”

Flitwick comes around a few minutes after the new arrivals start eating. He stands at the head of the table. “Ravenclaws,” He announces loudly, so that everyone at the table can hear. “Here are your schedules for this year. Sixth years, I’d like to speak with each of you individually.”

Schedules appear in front of each student that wasn’t among the seven of us who were so early to the meal.

“Who has History of Magic this morning?” Laurence looks around, hopeful.

“I do,” says Mara.

I add, “Me too. Natasha, Ginny, Luna, and Essie too.”

Isaac Allen, Garrett Gladwell, Frederick Quinn, Oliver Spencer, and Alma Chandler are also in History of Magic with us. After a bit more conversation, we find out that, in fact, we have exactly the same schedules.

A prefect happens to stop by. “First years! I see you’ve all gotten your schedules. I believe that you are split into two groups for which classes you will be attending at any one time. I expect you to all get to know each other before your first class.

“That way, you will be more comfortable talking to each other about your coursework and even asking each other for help. I know that you don’t necessary like that concept,” He says, seeing a couple of us roll our eyes. “But you will learn before long that the best performing students will be the ones most willing to ask for help when they get stuck.

“Have fun. See you all at lunch.”

With that, he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd of older students headed to their first classes.

Our group heads back to Ravenclaw Tower in order to gather our books and pens for History of magic. In addition the standard quill and parchment, I decide to throw a normal notebook and a fine-tipped ballpoint pen in with Bathilda Bagshot’s heavy tome.

We all gather in the common room. “It’s too nice of a day to just sit up here in a stuffy tower,” says Garrett.

“Let’s take this to the Grounds,” Isaac suggests. “My mum told me about this cool spot near the lake that’s always really pretty. Also there’s a couple benches out there. We can sit outside, talk a bit, and even talk a bit about what we think the class will be about.”

“That sounds perfect,” says Essie. We all take the stairs down to the grounds.

* * *

> Dear Jenna,
> 
> I just finished my first day of classes here and gosh this whole place is incredible. I’ve already made a bunch of friends and I really hope you will be able to meet them someday. I hope you’ll forgive me the next few paragraphs where I gush about them ~~a little~~.
> 
> On the train to school I met Ginny, Luna, and Mara. Mara’s parent’s are both muggles—her dad is a photographer for _National Geographic_! She’s even more overwhelmed by everything here than I am. Ginny has the reddest head of hair you’ve ever lain eyes on. Her parents are both magical (and their parents before them, and so on) and she has 6! older brothers. Her dad works at the Ministry of Magic like Mummy does. Luna is actually a family friend of Ginny’s—there about as close to neighbors as you can get in the middle of a random area of British country side. She’s a little odd, though. But she also is _so_ smart. Everything is a simple puzzle to her, and can be solved super quick.
> 
> Then we get sorted into one of four Houses. These are divisions of the entire school in order to encourage a closer relationship with each other or something. The four Houses are Gryffindor—who’s inhabitants defining trait is their ‘bravery’—Hufflepuffs (the loyal ones), Slytherins (ambition, or leadership), and Ravenclaw (brains!). I got into Ravenclaw, and so did all three of the above. Most of Ginny’s brothers, who were sorted into Gryffindor (it is sort of a tradition for their family) were a bit peeved, but Fred, who was sorted into Hufflepuff like three years ago, was almost as happy as we were about the sorting.
> 
> Then we went up to Ravenclaw tower. Each house has their own dedicating living areas. Ravenclaw gets the second tallest tower on campus (only the Astronomy tower is higher). So we were shown up to our dormitory. We have the highest floor of the tower. I room five other girls in our year. There’s Ginny, and then there’s Natasha, Morag, Alexandra, and Essie. Natasha is from America, and Essie is Welsh. We talked a bunch about our families this morning when we decided to go to breakfast twenty minutes early.
> 
> We got our schedules and I had History of Magic in the morning, with Ginny, Luna, Mara, Natasha, Essie, and five boys from our house. We shared the class with the Gryffindors. That class had so much potential. It’s taught by a Ghost, and he can’t say a sentence without putting someone to sleep. But the material is super interesting. The wizarding world has stayed hidden in Britain for more than a millennium and has had a history parallel to our own but still entirely different.
> 
> Then we had lunch. The second year Gryffindors had just come from Defense Against the Dark Arts, with Lockhart. Apparently he’s every bit the shill we assumed back before class. They spent the first fifteen minutes answering an exam about his _exploits_. Not anything about how to practice any defensive magic, or any information about dangerous magical creatures, or anything. Then when Hermione Granger—a muggleborn and the smartest girl in school—called him out on it, he set loose a bunch of pixies as a practical and tasked the students with gathering them up. When they went crazy, he tried to cast a made up spell, and then fled to his office.
> 
> He wasn’t any better when we had the class with the Slytherins. He tried the same trick about the test, but we were ready for it. Then we basically forced him to teach us a spell. After about five minutes of his fumbling for something suitable, I basically told him to teach us the Immobilizing Hex, _Petrificus Totalis_. Once we got out, a few of us spent about an hour giggling and laughing about him. But—get this—a Gryffindor named Flora tried to tell us off for it. She was really insistent. We all think she has a crush on him.
> 
> I don’t 100% blame her for it either. That “best smile” thing wasn’t a lie. He’s a real charmer. But the best thing so far has been the school itself. We’re in a thousand year-old castle with a huge grounds. There’s so much history in the building its amazing. There are awards and plaques for each class of students that’s come through since the school’s beginnings. It’s amazing. It’s so unfortunate that the school is charmed so that all you’d be able to see is a bit of a ruin on top of a dreary hill. I think Dad even has a photograph of it in his study.
> 
> Anyways, enough about my boring classes and life here. I want to know what’s going on back home. School will have started back up down there, right? How’s Ned and Dennis? Are you still playing football? Is the team still any good?
> 
> Is the custody thing going OK? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I hope you’re getting through it all right and that your parents aren’t fighting it too dirty.
> 
> All the Hugs,  
>  Beany

* * *

> Dear Sabine,
> 
> It’s all going all right over here. My parents chose to settle out of court. I think your mum and dad really gave them a good scare coming over there with all the legal papers. I didn’t know that she had a law degree from Harvard!
> 
> It sounds like Hogwarts is going well for you. Are you going to go for the Quidditch Team? Or try and start a different sport? Our football team is all right. Now that we are at a secondary school, Ned isn’t one of the best anymore, and he’s a bit put out. But the senior squad is really good, and even the reserves where we play is still all right so we give ’em a good challenge in scrimmages.
> 
> Dennis misses you a lot. I think he may have developed a crush on you this summer. There’s no one as bouncy as you here anymore to keep up with him.
> 
> Other than that, it’s business as usual here. Nothing new to report. Keep your updates coming, though.
> 
> Lots of Love,  
>  Jenny

* * *

> Dear Jenny,
> 
> I’m happy to hear that everything was sorted so smoothly. Yeah, Mummy decided to go get a Muggle education after getting out of Hogwarts. She spend eight years in America going to school out there. She was even on the Harvard Law Review. She could have been a Judge eventually if she had wanted to pursue the profession.
> 
> I definitely want to try for the Quidditch team, it sounds like an interesting sport. The rules are a bit wonky though. _However_ , we can’t actually try for the teams as first-years, so for a while all I can do is learn to fly. Those lessons are quite fun. After an incident last year, Madame Hooch, the flying instructor keeps a team captain there at all times, so that if she needs to escort someone to the hospital wing there will still be someone to supervise.
> 
> Last year, apparently, she left them alone after some poor guy broke his wrist, and the two biggest egos in the entire school, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy got at each other over a stolen object. They got in the air—which they were most definitely forbidden from doing, and had an argument culminating in the object being hurled some two hundred yard. Then Harry Potter flew the distance and caught the object just before it was going to break a window and end up in a professor’s office.
> 
> He was inducted onto the Gryffindor Quidditch team on the spot—once the professor in question (McGonagal, Gryffindor Head of House) got out there. The only first year student to get a place on the team in over a century.
> 
> But the captains are mostly very nice (except for Flint, the Slytherin. He’s a real piece of work). I especially like Roger and Cedric, the captains for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, respectively. They might also be the handsomest guys in school. Don’t judge me, OK?
> 
> Today, we had Charms and Transfiguration. Those classes are so cool. Like there’s real theory behind the spells that we’re learning, and they are giving us fundamentals that can be used for just about anything. We turned a matchstick to a needle. Ginny was the first to get it, and that got our house 10 points. Then Caroline Lewis got ten for Slytherin by being second. But only by about a tick. I got it right after. In charms, we mostly went over the fundamentals of wandwork, so we didn’t have any practical casting yet. But that was still super interesting as well.
> 
> Miss you,  
>  Sabine

* * *

> Dear Sabine,
> 
> Gosh, you don’t know how much I miss you. We went to the War Museum today, and it was fascinating. You need to get your Dad to take you when you’re back on break.
> 
> Oh, did you know that Kenny—little Kenny—had a huge growth spurt over the summer holiday? He’s taller than Dennis now. And he’s really fast. He scored a goal in football today, so Ned’s even more put out.
> 
> We’re studying exponents in Maths today, and I really have no idea how to wrap my head around them. I just can’t really remember the difference between squaring and cubing and fourthing (is that what you call it) and everything.
> 
> There are no holidays before winter break, right?
> 
> Jenny

* * *

> Dear Jenny,
> 
> Oh, no formal ending to your last letter, eh?
> 
> Just giving you a hard time. I just discovered the worst thing about Hogwarts. Electronics don’t work. I tried to show Ginny a Purple album—I brought one of our portable cassette players—and it doesn’t play. The latent magic interferes with the circuits or something. The horror. I will have to go all term without a single guitar riff.
> 
> I’m going to die. But we had Potions today. And it was awesome. I know I’ve basically said that about every class I’ve had, but I really do mean it. I mean, Professor Snape is a bit of a git. He took every opportunity to put down just about every non-Slytherin in class, but besides that, it was really cool.
> 
> I managed to make a passable rendition of a sleeping draught, which netted Ravenclaw a couple points, but I’m not sure if I’m really good at it. All the theory is really interesting though!
> 
> Yeah, no holidays in the middle of term, sadly, so we won’t be able to see each other until December, but no worries. It’ll be winter before you know it.
> 
> Soon enough,  
>  Sabine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned last week, the story picks up quite quickly from here. The next chapter will be Halloween, and will feature all sorts of fun canon divergence.


	5. Chapter 5: A Turn for the Worse (Oct 30-Nov 14)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween and Quidditch--->Nothing can go wrong ever!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I said that this term would probably make it so I wouldn't post as often. I wasn't expecting that it would take me till nearly the end of November to finish this damn chapter.
> 
> So we'll see how the last three weeks of term go.
> 
> Please comment and share this if you like it. That sort of stuff is what keeps me going!

“Okay,” says Essie. “You’re the best at charms, Beany. You’re in charge of setting up our costumes.”

Natasha and I had led the explanation of the Muggle traditions for Halloween. We had convinced basically the whole house to dress up, and now we had to work on our costumes, lest we get outshone at our own game.

I shake my head. “Sure, I can cast a pretty spell, but for consistency, you need Ginny.”

Alexandra demands, “Make mine a dolphin!”

Ginny starts—as if she hadn’t been paying attention—and looks confused, almost as if she lost track of where she was. “A what? Oh, okay.”

We take one of the lengths of cloth that Mummy sent me when I owled her our plans and lay it out flat.

Ginny starts murmuring the Mending Charm that Flitwick taught us only a few days before. Thread snakes from the spools at our feet, joining with the cloth and slowly moving it into shape.

“I don’t know how to make the fins rigid enough,” she hisses, between incantations.

“Umm,” I think for a bit, trying to remember the specifics of the strengthening charm. “How about this? _Remmus Istam_.”

The dorsal fin, which was flopping limply over to the ground suddenly stands erect, causing all of us to giggle. Then Alexandra puts it it on.

The finned tail swings behind her as she waddles around. The eyeholes only really give her a sliver of vision, so she has to turn her whole torso in order to look at anything, and that causes the tail to swing comically behind her. Before a minute goes by, the six of us are reduced to laughing wrecks.

“Alright, now mine!” Essie jumps up and down. “Um, a knight!”

“Like Sir Lancelot?” I had just given Ginny an adaption of the Muggle myth of King Arthur. Apparently the story was completely different in the wizarding world. She’s infatuated with Lancelot.

“Yes, like Sir Lancelot.” Essie sticks her tongue out at Ginny. “Except, you know, a girl knight!”

“You mean like this!” Natasha pantomimes her breasts bouncing about as she acts out a swordfight.

Essie shakes her head. “Get your head out of the gutter. I just mean a little more feminine.”

We settle on a hauberk made out of several layers of cloth, with embroidery that gave it the impression of chain mail. A stick of wood is quickly carved into a shape that is vaguely sword-like, and the strengthening charm makes a shield that she can hold possible.

“I want to be a Griffin, like Borchy!”

Borchy’d been a success with basically the whole house. Whenever the older students got overly stressed about school (which happened like every day), he’d find a moment to nuzzle against them, purring loudly enough to distract them from whatever had been going on and looking too cute for them to do anything but adore him for like an hour.

Honestly, it sometimes was frustrating.

Ginny and I get to work crafting the costume. The hind legs are super difficult. “Are you sure you don’t just want to be an eagle?”

Natasha just glares at us in response.

The feathers are the hardest. We realise that the costume doesn’t look like anything without them, so we take one of the feathers we used when learning the levitation charm to a seventh year, and ask her to replicate it by like a thousand. She eyes us suspiciously. “Are you sure that’s what you want? You want a thousand giant goosefeathers?”

“Well,” I say, meekly. “I guess it would be easier if they were transfigured into miniature raven or eagle feathers.”

The seventh year rolls her eyes. “Mavis! Give me a hand with this. We need to create a thousand miniature eagle feathers for a few first years!”

“What are they going to do with those, Rebecca?”

“I haven’t a clue. With first years it’s usually better _not_ to ask.”

_Rebecca?_ Crud! We just asked the Head Girl to do a bunch of magic for us.

They conjure a sack and place the feather inside it. Mavis mutters a complex incantation that’s too fast for me to quite catch. Feathers almost burst out of the sack as they appear.

“Over the next hour, this sack will always be full of feathers. That should work for you, right?” Mavis’ voice is kind.

“Definitely! Thanks!”

Ten minutes later, her costume is complete. Ginny’s is a chicken. I transfigure our eagle feathers into chicken feathers as we sew them to her costume.

“And what about you, Sabine?”

“I’m going to be a Queen, of course!”

We spend the next half-hour crafting the most ridiculously ostentatious dress and crown, giggling our way through it. By the time we finish, we’re yawning up a storm. Admitting defeat, we put the costumes away and go to bed, excited for the upcoming holiday.

We awake to Borchy cawing like a raven—which I suppose, he’s kind of supposed to. “It’s too early for this, Borchy!”

The sun is barely above the horizon, only a dim orange light seeping in through the tower windows. Borchy ignores my annoyed plea. “Shut up, Borchy!”

He caws again. “Ugh!!! What do you want!”

I get up to tend to my pet, as I swear I do every day. “Are you hungry, Borchy?”

His bowl, however, is as full as can be. I’d filled it before bed, as usual, so he had no reason to be hungry. I shake it’s contents to show Borchy that he does, indeed, have food. “Eat up if you’re hungry, silly.”

The griffin looks at me with disdain. He knows he has food. That’s not what he’s bothering us about.

This time, his voice is more of a cat’s mewl, but no less loud and piercing than the caw. “Show me what you need, Borchy,” I plead.

Ginny yawns, as if waking up. “Wha’s goi’ on?”

“Just Borchy being a pain. Don’t worry, you can sleep.”

Ginny’s eyes go wide for a moment, before she gets her expression under control. “What’s up with him?”

“That’s what I am trying to figure out.” I try to keep my voice to a whisper so as not to wake anyone else up.

Alas. “What are you trying to figure out?” Natasha always likes a good puzzle. _Don’t we all?_

“What Borchy is complaining for. He’s got enough food to last a week, and water. But he’s still complaining.”

“I have a way to shut him up.” Natasha fishes around in one of her bags—the one she got enchanted to refrigerate its contents. Finding what she was looking for, she tosses a piece of herring to the black menace.

“Here, Borchy, and shut your bawling.”

The griffin, of course, catches the fish without letting it touch the ground. He swallows it down happily and hops (with one powerful flap of his growing wings) across the room and into Natasha’s lap.

“Oof,” she exclaims as nine pounds of growing griffin falls onto her body.

“You fed him, now you have to deal with his affection.”

“Oh really?” She is petting him—he’s curled up across her legs the moment he landed on her. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Just wait until you have to use the bathroom, or get hungry, or feel the need to itch your foot. See how happy he is when you even twitch your leg.”

“Just like a cat there. I can handle that.”

I shake my head. I put my fingers to my lips and whistle as loudly as possible—all pretense of conscientiousness towards our sleeping roommates forgotten. As I’d trained him, this prompts Borchy to take a running leap towards me. Natasha stifles a yelp as he uses his front claws to push off of her with maximum force.

The thirteen-pound griffin—he’s been rapidly growing since I’d gotten him—slams into my chest and knocks me over into my trunk, which makes yet another very loud sound. This time, it’s a large bang.

Essie is livid as she bolts upright from our commotion. “Really, girls? Where is your decency? It’s a weekend, and you are making all this racket at…” She looks out the tower windows. “Well before ten o’clock!”

“Sorry for waking you,” I say, giving my best impression of demure submission for effect—though I don’t _really_ mean it.

“Okay,” says Alexandra, who is apparently awake now. “That’s just creepy. One moment, you are basically cackling like a super-villain and then the next, you’re meek as a lamb.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Perhaps that’s why Snape never insults me.”

The clock bells—audible throughout the castle—toll the hour. Eight o’clock.

“Anyone for an early Saturday breakfast?” Essie’s question drips with acid. She is not letting go of being rudely awoken so easily.

Ginny, cheerfully, responds, “Totally. Should we go down in our costumes?”

“Obviously.”

We take turns at the showers and gather in the common room, in our Halloween costumes. Unlike the first day of classes, however, we aren’t the only ones up absurdly early.

When I get down to the common room, Laurence is talking animatedly with a couple second years—Terry Boot, Padma Patil, and Michael Corner.

“Hey Laurence!” Ginny is almost never anything but cheery. “Hi Padma.” She ignores the other two boys. “We’re heading down for a bit of food. Do you want to join us?”

“Absolutely,” says Padma, looking a bit relieved to have been rescued from the three boys.

We all head down for food, making a tradition of being early for the first meals on important days.

After eating, Laurence expresses a wish to have his own costume, so we set about making him one.

“What do you want to be? Don’t say anything with feathers. We had a hard enough time convincing a seventh year to duplicate enough feathers for Natasha’s griffin costume, so I don’t think that we’re gonna be able to get more.”

“Er. I think I’d like to be a muggle firefighter.”

“That’s a good one,” I say. “We’ll get the materials and then meet in the common room ’kay?”

He nods.

Forty minutes later, he is looking rather dashing in as bulky a firefighters’ uniform as we could manage. We set about parading around the castle, getting into whatever mischief that we could without actually risking real trouble.

Mostly, all we manage to do is anger Peeves—the castle poltergeist—by finding his hideout and rotating everything in it 180 degrees. Promptly following which, we learn exactly why most Hogwarts students avoid him like the plague.

“God, those smell horrible,” shouts Essie, as the fourth Dung bomb splatters against the wall behind us.

“At least they don’t shatter when they hit something!” Natasha’s cheek has a small gash, where a piece of shattered crystal ball had hit her after exploding off of the ceiling, where Peeve’s had thrown it.

“ _Flippindo_ ,” shouts Laurence, as an arm from a suit of armor comes flying at us. The spell, a Defense Against the Dark Arts product (one of the only useful things we’d learned so far this term), causes it to spin, and throws it’s trajectory off enough so that it doesn’t hit any of us.

We turn on our heels and begin running.

“GET BACK HERE ICKLE FIRSTIES!!! I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET!” Peeves’ screeches seem to reverberate throughout the whole castle.

We duck into a side corridor and sprint our way back to the main staircases.

“Well, that was an adventure and a half,” says Alexandra, once we make it to the landing for the fourth floor.

“Okay,” I add. “New rule. Don’t mess with Peeves.” I look at my crown with disgust—Peeves did manage to nab us once or twice with those stinky projectiles. “ _Scourgify_ ,” I mutter, using the last spell that Flitwick had taught us to clean off all of the muck.

“Well, I’m going to clean all this off.” Ginny looks, in disgust, at her costume, covered in the detritus from several dung bombs. Sniffing, she adds, “And take a shower too.”

“And I still haven’t finished my Charms work,” Essie complains. “I should go to the library and work on that.”

“I still have that potions essay to work on. I can go with you. After a shower, of course,” I say, realizing that the stench is now truly a part of us, not just the dung bombs that had been thrown at us.

We all head back to the dormitory, to clean up.

As soon as we are clean, Ginny vanishes. The rest of us go to the library to catch up on schoolwork.

* * *

We spend the afternoon working on all of our outstanding homework. By the time all of us are fully caught up for the week ahead, the bell is ringing six o’clock, suppertime.

After dropping our work back off in our dorm up in Ravenclaw Tower, we make it down to the Great Hall, where the Halloween Feast is just getting underway.

“Where’s Ginny,” I ask the rest of the Ravenclaw table as we sit down. She never rejoined us when we went to do work in the library. Everyone just shrugs, some muttering something about Potter.

“Is it true,” asks Essie. “That last Halloween, a professor let a troll loose in the dungeons?”

“Yes,” says a second year. “The professor who did it came running up into the Great Hall and fainted after telling the Headmaster. Caused a right panic, he did.”

Just then, a small redhead comes running down the length of the table to slip onto the table, out of breath.

“Where were you?”

Ginny starts babbling. I don’t listen to it, the way words are just spilling out of her mouth, it’s clear that she’s making an excuse up. I decide not to press it.

Flitwick stands at the front of the staff table. “Tonight, we will have a performance from the school orchestra.” He gestures to the few dozen students seated in a clear area between the student tables and the raised staff dais. “We will be performing the second movement from Grenby’s1 First Symphony.”

He walks to the front of the orchestra and turns to face the players. As he conducts, sound erupts. I’d never heard much wizarding music before, as Mummy vastly prefers Muggle pop culture, and Dad never really experienced anything different.

To my surprise, Grenby’s music is fairly, straightforwardly, romantic in style. Sweeping strings, bold brass and big movements define the movement, a majestic major-key expression of pride. The entire piece builds to a final crescendo, the woodwinds holding the base of a strong harmony.

The sound dies away and is replaced by the enthusiastic applause of the whole school, myself included. I even give a bit of a whoop (blushing right through it).

Professor Dumbledore stands once the applause dies down. “Thank you for that wonderful performance! Music is a form of magic all its own, one that we can barely begin to comprehend. Don’t any of you squander that. Happy Halloween, everybody! Now I know that all of you have worked up quite an appetite today, so I will be as brief as I can.

“I have heard reports of people behaving in manners that express explicit blood-prejudice. Anti-muggleborn sentiments will not be tolerated at Hogwarts. Every witch and wizard, no matter their parentage, deserves to be here at Hogwarts, learning to be the best they can be. Everyone deserves to have the best opportunity to succeed.

“No one is inferior to anyone else based upon who their parents are, and saying so is deeply harmful. So as a new school policy—one which I dearly wish weren’t necessary—any student caught acting upon blood-prejudice will be subject to a punishment severe enough to match the damage being done to the wizarding community.

“And now, after that sombre announcement, you may all dig in!”

I look around, bewildered, as food appears on every table. “There wasn’t a rule prohibiting that behavior _before_ now?”

“Nope,” says Essie, “apparently not.” My eyes fall on the rest of our crew. All of them look a little outraged, but the ones from wizarding families don’t look entirely surprised.

“Why don’t you guys look at all surprised that no one has put a stop to the wizarding equivalent of racism yet,” asks Mara, her outrage growing a little.

“It’s more like classism, really,” says Laurence, “Purebloods are like the pretentious upper class—it doesn’t help that most of them are filthy rich, and they think that their long lineage of magical power makes them better than everybody else. Then there are families like the Princes and the Gelds who’s money has long since run out and cling to their blood as the one thing that makes them better than everbody else.

“And because it’s never really been seen as racism, it’s been allowed to go unchecked. In Grindelwald’s War, all of that really came to a head. Grindelwald keyed on those prejudices to gain a following, promising to be free from the shackles of the statutes of secrecy and saying that wizards were better than muggles and stuff like that.

“When he was defeated there were some efforts to fix it all, apparently, but the wealthy purebloods made them difficult and unsuccessful. Then You-Know-Who rose. His branch of hatred was different than Grindelwald’s. Grindelwald focused on freeing wizardkind from hiding from muggles, where You-Know-Who wanted to exterminate them. To him, muggles were no more than animals, and muggleborns were taking magical power from the rest of us.

“When You-Know-Who fell twelve years ago, many people tried to reclassify the anti-muggleborn sentiments as true discrimination, but that campaign has been ongoing since before we were born, and isn’t really making any progress. Honestly, this is the most significant change that’s happened.”

With such cheery conversation done, we eat most of our meal in silence, only really speaking to request food be passed around or an inane question. However, our reverie is soon broken when the doors to the great hall burst open.

A shrill voice splits the ensuing silence asunder. “Dumbly! The baron sent me to tell you that something happened at the Entrance Hall and your presence is required!”

This being the first time I’d seen Peeves being at all serious, it sounded like something really bad must have happened. Dumbledore, the staff, and all the prefects spill out into the Entrance Hall. The rest of the school isn’t far behind.

We jostle with the crowd, making our way to the front where we see what all the commotion is about. Painted in red, five-foot tall letters across the wall are the words, “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir Beware!”

“Enemies of the heir?” The voice belonged to Hermione Granger, a muggleborn, second-year, Griffindor—many call her the smartest girl in school.

“Better watch out, Granger,” yells Malfoy, in lieu of a proper response. “ _Mudblood_.” The last barely comes out as more than a whisper, but he’s standing directly to my left.

An involuntary hiss escapes my lungs. _How dare he call anyone that!_ I barely muster the restraint to not punch his stupid face right then. Noticing the sudden anger in my face, Mara looks at me questioningly.

Before I can explain the significance of Malfoy’s words, an earsplitting shriek splits the air. “Mrs. Norris!”

Filch is running to the middle of the wall with all of the writing on it. For the first time, we all notice that there is a cat hanging rigidly by its tail from one of the wall sconces. The caretaker’s cat looks very dead, so I can understand the man’s consternation.

“Don’t worry, Argus.” Dumbledore tries to console him. “She’s only been petrified. Weasley, Potter, you two stay here with me. As for the rest of you.” He gestures to the crowd—every student in Hogwarts is gathered. “Follow your prefects back to your houses. House elves will deliver a few morsels so you can get the dessert that was so rudely interrupted.”

The crowd splits into its component houses and we all head home, the prospects of more dessert making it easier for us to abandon the curiosity of whatever had happened in the Entrance Hall.

“Okay.” Mara, Essie, and Natasha corner me once we all make it back to the common room. “You have to tell us why you looked like you wanted to all medieval on Malfoy back there.”

“He called Granger a _mudblood_. Not loudly enough so anyone could here it, but I was standing right next to him. So naturally I wanted to rip his face off a little.”

Essie nods in agreement, but Natasha and Mara look just as confused as before. “What’s a mudblood,” asks Natasha.

“It’s the most foul insult that a witch or wizard can call one another.” The anger I felt when Malfoy had uttered the word is bubbling below the surface as I explain. “As you might expect, its a disparaging remark for muggle-borns, basically saying that muggle blood is dirty.”

“That’s awful.”

“It gets worse,” Essie adds. “Over the last century, especially, its been used to insinuate that muggleborns aren’t witches and wizards at all, just muggles that have been able to steal magical abilities from ‘real’ wizards. It’s such a horrible theory that I wouldn’t even mention it, but…”

“So what kept you from murdering Malfoy?”

“Every staff member in the school was there! I couldn’t get away with doing anything, especially to Prince Malfoy.”

“Yeah, he’s not worth getting expelled over.”

“My parents would kill me if I did something that stupid.”

* * *

“Good lord, girl! How are you so excited for a game that doesn’t even have members of our house in it? You don’t even have any investment in the rivalry!”

Essie blushes. “Do you like one of the players,” asks Ginny?

“You’re one to talk, Ginny!” Natasha barely can spit the whole sentence before she breaks down into giggles. Ginny’s face turns a brighter scarlet than her hair.

“Real mature, girls,” says Natasha. “We all know that both Essie and Ginny have unreasonable crushes on Harry Potter for no other reason than him being ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ Let’s not rub it in.”

We all finish bundling for the biting November winds and file down to the Quidditch pitch. The blustering air numbs our faces before we can even make it to the stadium. We find our seats between seas of crimson and green.

“Welcome, everyone, to the Griffindor-Slytherin Quidditch Match. This is the… Oh, I don’t know, like thousandth match in the fiercest rivalry in school!”

The voice booming across the stadium is that of a fourth-year Griffindor, Lee Jordan. “Starting for Griffindor, we have the team Captain, keeper Oliver Wood, chasers Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell, and beaters George Weasley and Kristi Hogan!

“Oh, and that isn’t to forget Harry Potter, their seeker!

“For Slytherin, Marcus Flint captains the team from the chaser position, joined by Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague, along with beaters Peregrine Derrick and Lucian Bole. Terence Higgs is the seeker and Miles Bletchley protects the goals.

“As always, Madam Hooch is officiating. Let’s let her begin the game.”

All of the players flew to their starting locations around Madam Hooch and the balls. She releases the snitch and bludgers, throwing the quaffle skyward moments later. “Johnson wins the toss, passing to Spinnet to avoid the tackle.”

The pace of the game is much quicker than soccer, with the brooms whistling up and down the pitch—often at more than a hundred miles an hour. But it does take almost fifteen minutes before the first goal is scored. “Pucey snags Johnson’s pass out of the air, and throws it to Montague, but Katie Bell eviscerates him with that tackle. She throws it back to Spinnet.

“Oh! But that bludger was hit early. That’ll be a foul—which Madam Hooch quite rightly picks up on. Johnson takes the penalty shot, and throws it to the right post—just beats Bletchley through the goal. 10-nil Griffindor!”

With the lid off, scoring picks up quickly from there. Before too long it is 70-30 to Slytherin. Their bludger hits come much more frequently and at more opportune times.

Then Griffindor calls a time-out, and the players gather in huddles on the grass of the pitch. Soon they nod to Madam Hooch and everyone kicks back into the air.

Now looking for a change in strategy, I do notice something out of the ordinary—one of the Griffindor beaters, who had previously been basically guarding their seeker is now ignoring him. The Boy-who-lived is now speeding around the pitch, doggedly chased by one of the bludgers—which seems to be focusing on him to the exclusion of all others.

I point this out to Ginny. Her knowledge of Quidditch being far more complete than mine, I ask, “It isn’t common for the bludger to chase a single target for this long, is it?”

“I’ve never heard of something like this happening, but I suppose it isn’t completely impossible.”

The Potter boy, doing everything he can just to stay away from the dastardly ball, zips right over our heads, before corkscrewing and flying under the raised stadium seating. The bludger, on the other hand, chooses to dive right through the woodwork, nearly bowling over a few Hufflepuffs in the row in front of us.

Splinters fly everywhere, and I push Ginny behind me as we dive for cover.

Once we get back up, the bludger finally catches up with its prey, slamming hard into his arm. That scream is sure audible throughout the entire audience. But he then turns the broom around and shoots right after the Slytherin seeker, who is seemingly in hot pursuit of the snitch.

Moments later they are both in a nosedive, trying to put as much speed behind their brooms as possible. Higgs’ broom isn’t quite as fast as the Potter boy’s and he is slowly loosing ground on him. But the ground is approaching faster than that. Higgs, spooked by the speed at which he is hurtling towards certain doom, chooses to peel off, choosing life and limb over the snitch.

Potter, on the other hand, just seems to be careening ever faster towards the muddy pitch. His left hand flashes out and he pulls his broom out of the dive, leveling only inches above the ground before falling off. Moments later, he rolls to the left as the weird bludger slams into the ground where his head had just been.

Everyone is rushing onto the pitch now.

“Omigod Sabine! You’re bleeding!”

I look down. Sure enough, a splinter the length of my forearm is sticking out of my stomach. Moments later the pain hits. “Holy Mother of God! Fuck, that hurts!”

Everyone stares at me. Someone—I can’t tell who—weakly manages, “Language!”

And then… Black.

* * *

  1. Mary Grenby was a witch and an orchestral composer, born in 1767, in London. She started composing at the age of thirty-five after first hearing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata played in Vienna. She composed 32 major works, including six symphonies, before her death in 1845. She is now known as one of the best classical composers from the wizarding world.↩





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